


Found Clan

by silvergryphon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Ayliah, Distaff Squad - Freeform, F/M, Found Family, Multi, Naroko Chiston - Freeform, OFC - Freeform, Other, among other things, cuteness and fixing the Clone Wars, in which Jedi are actual children, winged!ObiWan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-01-15 07:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18494536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvergryphon/pseuds/silvergryphon
Summary: After the Battle of Geonosis, a Jedi Healer discovers young Boba Fett mourning the loss of his father. Not about to leave a ten-year-old boy on his own, she promptly adopts him with the full collusion of her Padawan.





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> The Black and Gold verse that Naroko and Ayliah originated from is defunct now, but I love them and Distaff Squad so much I couldn't let them go. So- it's time for new adventures.

It had been three years since Naroko Chiston had last been on a battlefield.

She knew, in her line of work, it was probably a wonder she’d been able to go that long without having to visit one. She was a Jedi, she was a Healer, and she did not like being tied down to the infirmary. Oh, she spent plenty of time in the infirmary, serving regular terms in between forays into the field, but she would go a little crazy if she didn’t get those forays. And with her particular specialty being trauma healing rather than the healing of disease… well, few places saw more trauma than a battlefield.

Still, she’d managed to go three years without setting foot on one. Her Padawan Ayliah was shaping up to be a Mind-Healer rather than a trauma healer, so there was less need to for the Council to send them into battlefields. War zones, certainly, cleaning up the aftermath, but in those cases they were usually far behind the lines.

Today they had been on the front lines, serving as warriors first, then healers. Mace Windu had rounded up half the Jedi in the Temple and those within easy striking distance of Geonosis and led them all on a desperate mission to rescue ObiWan, Anakin, and Senator Amidala and attempt to head off a Separatist plot to start a war. They had succeeded in the first, but the latter…

Oh they were well and truly in it now.

Naroko paused in one of the tunnels under the arena where it had all started, leaning against the wall and pressing her hands to her aching temples. The battle was over, but she had to call it what it was- the opening skirmish in the war they had all dreaded. Dozens of Jedi had been slain, each one ripping a wound in the Force that found painful resonance in her heart and soul. She’d felt them die, felt them fall bleeding in the dust, their pain echoing through her.

And the clones…

Force, while the clones didn’t create such a powerful ripple when they died, even more of them had died than Jedi. The cumulative resonance of their deaths was nearly as bad as those of the Jedi. All that lingering pain, all that death, it battered at her shields, burning like salt on raw, torn flesh. She shuddered and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take deep breaths and reinforce her shields. She couldn’t lose it now. She still had work to do. Survivors needed to be found, needed to be stabilized, needed to be extracted and evacuated.

“Understand we do, that painful it is to stay,” Yoda had said, with incredible gentleness in his tone. “But best suited your skills are, for finding the wounded quickly. The sooner all are found, the better.”

Ayliah had been given the same assignment, and was searching the other half of the arena with a couple of clone medics in tow. But Naroko was working on her own, expending just enough of her strength to stabilize each wounded victim she came across and signaling their location before hurrying to find the next. She’d all but finished her sweep, and was taking a moment in the shade of the tunnel to catch her breath. There was so much pain, so much _fear_ , the very air tasted bitter and ashy on her tongue with it.

Shuddering, she massaged her temples, reaching for just a little more strength to reinforce her shields and dull the worst of it.

A new thread of emotion caught her attention as she was doing that. There was no physical pain lacing it, but there was fear there, half-buried under _grief_ and _despair_. There was something sharper about it too, something fresher and rawer and younger about it that made it stand out. This wasn’t the pain of an adult, this- this was a child.

What was a _child_ doing here?

More important, why was a child _still_ here?

She took another deep breath to steady herself and reached for the Force, grasping at that thread of grief-despair-fear. She caught in a delicate mental grip, heaved her weary, aching body off the wall, and started following it.

The arena structure was a warren of tunnels that were now deserted. She made several wrong turnings as she followed that thread of pain, because the connection was unconcerned about pesky little things like ‘walls’ and ‘following physical paths through a maze of tunnels’. It simply made a straight line between her and the source, forcing her to backtrack and detour a few times through tunnels littered with corpses Geonosian, Jedi, or clone, before she finally climbed up a set of stairs that led to a larger, more elaborate viewing box that looked out over the arena itself. Tucked in a corner of the box was a small figure dressed in blue, their face pressed against their knees and their whole body shaking with silent sobs. From the size, Naroko guessed that the child couldn’t be much more than ten at the most.

She moved slowly towards the child and dropped to one knee a few feet away. Her height could sometimes be intimidating, she knew, and she didn’t wish to scare this poor youngling if she could help it. “Hello,” she said gently.

The child jumped with a gasp, and tried to press himself further back into the corner as he scrabbled for a small vibroblade in a sheath at his belt, staring at her with round brown eyes currently red-rimmed from crying.

“Easy,” she said. She didn’t move any closer, just brought her empty hands into view. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m a healer.”

He frowned, but while he stopped trying to draw his vibroknife, his hand never moved away from its hilt. His eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion, going to the lightsaber at her belt. “You’re a jetii.”

She paused a moment at that. Jetii. She vaguely knew the word. ObiWan had spent over a year on Mandalore, and the word for Jedi in Mando’a, he’d said, was jetii. He’d also said it was often said with a disparaging air. “I’m a Jedi, yes,” she said. “My name is Naroko. I’m here looking for people who were hurt in the fighting so I can help them.”

The boy, with his light brown skin, brown eyes, and mop of curly dark hair looked startlingly like a younger version of the cloned soldiers that Yoda had brought to the battlefield. There was a distinct resemblance in the lines of his face, even though they were rounded and softened with youth and baby fat. She was given to understand that there were dozens of batches of clones back on Kamino at various stages of maturity, but- how had one only half-grown come to be on Kamino? And he certainly wasn’t looking at her like the handful of clones she’d already met had. They had regarded the Jedi they were sent to aid with respect and an almost eager obedience that she honestly found a bit unnerving- those that weren’t wounded, anyway. The wounded ones had looked at her with relief and gratitude made even more pronounced when she turned her powers on them and mended the worst of their injuries and stopped their bleeding so they could be gathered up by others and taken to safety.

This boy still looked like he wanted to stab her.

“Where were you when one of you hurt my dad?” he demanded bitterly.

Naroko sat back, a little startled by the venom in his tone. “I- don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “I don’t know who your father is.”

“Was,” he corrected, and her heart ached in sudden understanding. No wonder he’d been sobbing like his heart was broken.

“Was,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, young one.”

He continued to stare at her, accusation joining the grief in his eyes. She reached out with her mind and projected a brush of sympathy, an acknowledgment of that gnawing sense of loss that clawed at the boy- and laced under it, just a hint of reassurance, a sense of security. It wouldn’t do to leave this poor child behind, especially now that he was alone. She needed him to relax and tolerate her, at least enough to let her make sure he got to a safe place. And she truly did feel for him. The loss of a loved one was a deep wound to the heart, and he was so young…

“Do you have anywhere to go?” she asked gently.

With the mercurial swiftness of any child, his mood changed again, the accusation swallowed up by grief and no small amount of incipient hysteria. His lip trembled as he valiantly fought to keep from bursting into tears. “N-no…” he admitted. “We- lived on K-Kamino…”

“Oh- dearheart…” She moved on instinct then, praying she wasn’t about to be gutted by a furious ten-year old, and drew the boy into her arms. He stiffened in surprise, then burst into tears as she held him against her shoulder. His grief was even more palpable with physical contact, waves of anguish that surged against her shields. She didn’t try to shush him. Instead she just held him, petting his hair as he sobbed himself out.

Who was this boy, who looked like a young clone but spoke of a father? A father he was close enough to to be utterly grief-stricken by his death? Surely the cloned soldiers didn’t… have fathers? Or a relationship with a father? Surely not, the idea didn’t even make sense in her own head. So who was this child?

Whoever he was, one thing was clear: She was not going to leave him behind, alone and with no one to take care of him. Absolutely not. Yoda himself could order her to leave him behind and she’d refuse. She’d have to take him with her.

She held him as he wept himself, if not out, then certainly dry. When he finished, he simply went quiet, an aching ball of grief and misery.

 _Poor thing,_ she thought sadly, petting his hair. She had never personally experienced a loss so powerful as this, only felt it secondhand from others. ObiWan had come to her after QuiGon died and allowed himself a single session of crying before he’d forcibly pulled himself together so he could be something like a competent mentor for his new apprentice. But she had sat with other children before, who’d lost parents or siblings, and it had been much like this. At first the well of pain and loss would seem endless, no matter how much they cried for their loved one. It would take time before it became bearable. So it would be with this boy.

Maybe ObiWan would have some ideas. He’d been on Mandalore for a year, he might known something, some cultural ritual about dealing with death, that could help.

But one thing at a time. ObiWan was already aboard one of the ships bound for Coruscant, probably already buried in a debriefing with the Council. Right now she had a distraught child to get moving.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly, and had to cock her head and strain her ears to hear the barely-audible response.

“Boba,” the boy replied. “Boba Fett.”

She nodded and hugged him. “I’m Naroko Chiston. Think you’re up for moving? We need to go somewhere safe.”

He considered this for a moment. “Where?”

“Well- back to the ships,” she said. “There’s a lot of hurt troopers and Jedi being evacuated. I’m a healer, so I’m going to need to go with them- and I think it would be a good idea if you stuck with me until we figure out what’s going to happen with you.”

He tensed a little when she mentioned Jedi, but he clearly had no better idea what to do, so he nodded. Naroko smiled softly and patted his shoulder. “Let me up?”

“Kay.” He blinked as she got to her feet, having to crane his head to look up at her. It occurred to her that even armored and helmeted, the clones stood several inches shorter than she did. _He must not be used to having to look up so far at a human_ , she thought with quiet amusement. But he took her hand when she offered it, and let her lead him back through the warren of tunnels under the arena to the ring itself. They stepped back out into the sun just as Ayliah came trudging up.

“I think I’ve found everyone still alive,” her scarlet-skinned Twi’lek apprentice said wearily. Her cream-colored tunic and trousers were scorched in places, and stained with reddish brown dirt and blood. She looked as worn as Naroko felt. “Everyone’s stable, and the squad they gave me are finishing getting the last taken to the ships.” Her golden-brown eyes widened as they fell on Boba. “Master? Who’s this?”

“This is Boba,” she said firmly. “And he’s coming with us.”

Ayliah blinked, looked at Boba, then back at Naroko, one brow arching. Naroko felt a touch on their mental bond, along with a wave of uncertainty from her Padawan. _< What’s going on?>_ she asked.

 _< What’s going on, dear one, is that out here in this mess somewhere is someone this boy considered his father, and from what he says, it was quite probably a Jedi who killed him,>_ she said. _< I am certainly not about to leave a child all alone out here.>_

 _< Well no,>_ Ayliah agreed. _< Of course we can’t leave him out here alone. But- what are we going to do with him?>_

She shrugged. _< I haven’t the faintest idea. Right now, I want to get off this planet, which means he’s coming with us. We’ll figure out what to do when we’re not all ready to drop.>_

Her apprentice nodded, and gave Boba a smile. “Hello Boba,” she said. “I’m Ayliah, Master Naroko’s apprentice.” She dug a canteen out of the kit she’d been given and knelt, offering it to him. “I’ll bet you’re pretty thirsty.”

He took it slowly, looking between the two Jedi. “Dad said jetiise could talk in their heads,” he said. There was a faint note of disapproval in his tone.

“We can, yes,” she said. “Sometimes it’s just faster that way.”

He mulled this over and took a long drink from the canteen before offering it back to Ayliah. She took it with a small smile. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

The area immediately around the last remaining transport was a scene of controlled chaos. Injured troops were being loaded onto it by their fellows, overseen by a weary-looking Luminara Unduli. She smiled weakly as Naroko came over and brushed a hand along her arm, projecting reassurance and trying to send her a little energy to bolster her dwindling strength. “This is the last of them,” she said. “Thanks to you and your Padawan and the clone medics, we have the worst of them stabilized. You should get aboard. They’re going to need your help.”

“Alright.” She was very tired, but- there were wounded people here. She didn’t sense any other Jedi on this transport besides Luminara, but that didn’t make a difference. These clones, these people, had showed up to save their lives. It was only right that she work to save theirs in turn. From the way Ayliah wearily straightened, Naroko knew she felt the same.

Fortunately Luminara did not comment on their little tag-along as the three climbed the ramp into the large cabin now crammed full of clone soldiers on cots and spread-out emergency blankets. The wounded who had already been settled had been stripped of their armor, the pieces of it neatly piled next to where they lay. A couple of medics were making their way along the rows, assessing injuries and giving orders to those of their fellows who were helping. Boba clung to her hand, staring around with renewed horror.

She gave his hand a little squeeze. “Is this the first time you’ve been around a lot of hurt people?” she asked softly. The agony of the wounded men clawed at her, demanding she go and help.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Sometimes they’d get hurt in training exercises and come in to the infirmary at a time I was there,” he said. “But I never saw more than ten come in at once.” There were at least ten times that crammed into this cabin, men with real, serious injuries, groaning in pain or even quietly sobbing.

Turning, she knelt and took his hands in hers. “Ayliah and I need to go help them,” she said. “I need you to find a corner and just sit for a while, okay? I’ll find someone who can bring you something to eat and drink.”

He wrinkled his nose. “’M not hungry.”

“Okay. Just try and drink something.” She brushed at a smudge on his cheek. “Crying takes a lot of water out of you.”

He reluctantly took himself off to a corner. To her pleasure, Ayliah made sure he got a canteen, blanket, and a ration bar before starting her own work. The two Jedi worked their way along the rows of injured troopers. The clone medics had already organized their wounded fellows by the severity of their injuries, and it was easy enough for them to beeline straight for the worst hurt. Luminara joined them soon afterward. Naroko barely paid her any attention, too focused on her task. Time and time again she called on the Force, letting it pour through her into the broken, battered bodies under her hands. It flooded through her, knitting torn flesh and bone at a speed even bacta couldn’t match. All the while she talked softly under her breath, thanking each man she treated for his efforts in saving her and the other Jedi, assuring them they had done their best, they had been brave and valiant, that now they were safe and she was going to help ease their pain.

She couldn’t, of course, fully heal all of them. Even if she had been well-rested and hadn’t just been through a brutal battle and given other clones the most vital emergency care already, there were too many for her to completely piece back together. She worked in stages, stopping bleeding, stabilizing the symptoms of shock, ensuring vital organs were intact, immobilizing broken bones, then easing them into sleep so they could escape the pain of their injuries. Ayliah and Luminara were doing the same, though they were tiring far more quickly than she.

As it was, by the time she was finished with the last patient the clone medics would let her tend before waving her off, she was about ready to drop where she stood. True, she was only a channel for the Force, but healing required close attention and very, very careful direction and control of the flow of energy, all of which cost her in terms of personal energy. Someone must have mentioned that to the clones- she suspected Ayliah- because just as she found herself swaying on her feet with exhaustion, one of the medics took her by the elbow and firmly steered her to a seat.

“That’s all the really bad injuries,” he told her. “The rest can wait. But you need to rest before you keep over, sir.”

She looked at him blankly, not comprehending why he’d addressed her as ‘sir’ but too tired to ask. He gently pushed her into the seat, and a moment later pressed a canteen into her hands. “Drink,” he said firmly. “Medic’s orders.”

That got a weary chuckle out of her, and she nodded. “I will.”

He nodded and left to return to the others. Naroko sipped from the canteen and leaned back, closing her eyes. A brief mental check showed her that Ayliah was fast asleep on her bench, and Luminara was likewise resting. She was proud of her Padawan. She’d held up well, dealing with the awful aftermath of a real battle.

She’s going to need that skill, she thought suddenly. We’re at war now. Force, there’s going to be more of this, so much more… More pain, and death, and fear… They had intervened in planetary conflicts before, tended the wounded on smaller battlefields, but this… this was going to be so much bigger.

_Force… let us make it through this. Let us make it through this with minds and hearts and souls intact…_

A small hand tugged at her sleeve, and she opened her eyes, looking down into Boba’s grave face. “Yes?”

He held out a ration bar. “Kix said to eat this.”

“Kix?”

He nodded and pointed at the medic who’d ordered her to rest. “Some of ‘em have names too. The rest just have their batch numbers.”

She blinked, digesting this even as she accepted the ration bar. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with this batch number thing… it made them seem less like humans and more like… replaceable parts. And the idea of reducing living beings to the level of replaceable parts made her skin crawl. She resolved on the spot to learn as many of the clones’ names as she could. “I see. Thank you, Boba. Kix was right, I need to eat after healing so many.” Unwrapping the bar, she bit into it. Kix had been kind enough to give her one of the ostensibly-fruit-flavored ones. It was sticky sweet, but after expending so much energy she would need it.

Once she’d finished, she downed the contents of the canteen and leaned back, closing her eyes. She was just starting to drift off when her weary senses registered that Boba wanted to ask her something but was hesitant about it. She looked down at him, peering into that anxious little face. “What is it, dearheart?” she asked.

He bit his lip, plainly fighting with himself. She could understand his reluctance and didn’t push, just gently projected a brush of reassurance and welcome. That seemed to tip the balance. He ducked his head and whispered, “Can I stay with you?”

She smiled softly and raised an arm in invitation. “Of course.”

Smiling weakly, he curled up against her side. She called over an unoccupied blanket and tucked it around them both. Then she closed her eyes, absently petting Boba’s hair until he- and then she- dozed off.


	2. Early Days At The Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intentions, advice, and Naroko is going to Try (tm)

“And what do you intend to do with the boy?”

Naroko stood in front of the two leaders of the Jedi Council, hands clasped behind her back. It was five days after the Battle of Geonosis, a day after the formal declaration of war with the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and approximately six hours after she’d finally gotten away from her obligations to her infirmary patients and her charges long enough to have this meeting. Boba had, to her surprise, stuck to her side like a little curly-haired burr, apparently deciding that if he must be in the charge of a jetii, it might as well be the one who’d been nice to him. He regarded the rest of the Order he’d encountered- except for Ayliah, who had gotten into his good graces by frequent tributes of cookies- with a surly suspicion. Wounded Jedi she tended in the infirmary were met with his disapproving scowl even as he handed her the tools she asked him for.

With her new charge constantly in tow, it was little wonder Master Yoda and Master Windu had gotten wind of things and wanted a word.

She studied them both, as well as the ripples their emotions made in the Force. The two leaders of the Order were, naturally, very good at controlling their emotions, but a little still leaked over. Mostly she felt concern from them, though whether that was solely in regards to the situation with Boba or the situation at large she wasn’t sure. There was more than a hint of disapproval from Windu, and- yes, that was just a touch of bemused exasperation from Master Yoda.

_Well, I suppose it usually is his lineage that’s always bringing back strays._

“I intend,” she said calmly, “To ensure Boba is cared for.”

“Why not place him with one of the Mandalorian groups here on Coruscant? Surely they can track down his relatives and see him returned to them.”

“I considered that, Master.” She was not going to back down on this point. “And I have managed to talk to Boba a little about his situation. He says it’s always just been him and his father, Jango- the man who was contracted to be the genetic donor for the clone army we’ve been… provided.” And something about that situation just itched at her, even if she hadn’t had a chance to sit down and ponder it long enough to sort out exactly why. “No other relatives. He said Jango told him once that his clan had been wiped out. And I did get a chance to pull a few initial records. His family was killed in a civil war years ago on Concord Dawn. Official records on Fett are sketchy after that, but the destruction of Clan Fett as a whole I was able to confirm.” She allowed herself a grimace of frustration. She had sent inquiries to the Mandalorian government, but they only responded the night before and the tone of the message she’d received had been one of extreme reluctance to cooperate. She had no idea if there were additional records they simply weren’t giving her, and wouldn’t know until she could persuade Quin to send one of his contacts to Mandalore or Concord Dawn to ferret things out more thoroughly. And with the outbreak of war, well, the Jedi Shadow and his network of informants were probably going to consider digging into the background of Jango Fett rather low-priority. “The boy has no living relatives, and he was raised solely by Jango on Kamino with occasional assistance from the Kaminoans and a couple of the bounty hunters his father worked with. And I am uncertain how one of the Mandalorian communities on Coruscant would treat him, or if they’d be willing to take him in. And the Kaminoans won’t want him underfoot. Their focus is on the clone army. As it is- he’s already been through a very traumatic event. He’s growing familiar with me, and I want to give him a chance to get stabilized in a place that’s going to be _safe_ until he’s recovered. I do not think it is in his best interest to remove him from the adult who has been caring for him at this time.”

She looked pointedly at Windu. The Temple gossip network had been working overtime since they’d all returned, and she had it on very good authority that he had been the one to kill Jango. To her satisfaction, he had the grace to look just a little chastised.  
“Boba will be safe here with me,” she said. “I’d like to have him spend part of his time with one of the clans in the creches. The socialization will be good for him, and the Temple is safe. We can take care of him here, until a better solution presents itself.”

“An apprentice you have already, Knight Chiston,” Yoda pointed out.

She inclined her head. “My Padawan is already on board with the idea of helping care for Boba,” she replied. “Until we receive another assignment, our place is going to be at the Temple infirmaries rather than the field. Having a young child with us isn’t going to be a detriment. And,” she added, smiling just a little. “The experience dealing with a youngling one-on-one like this will be good experience for Ayliah. Someday she will be taking a Padawan of her own, after all.”

The two Masters exchanged a look, and she felt hopeful. Was she wearing them down?

“Another assignment you are likely to receive, Knight Chiston, though decided on what yet, we have not.”

That got a raised eyebrow from her. “I see. Well, until then, my place is with the Temple infirmaries. Between myself, Ayliah, and the creche, we’ll make sure Boba is cared for.”

“Until then,” Windu said. His lips pressed together in a tight line, plainly unhappy with the entire complication to an already complicated situation Boba was representing.  
In the end, Naroko was almost glad that in the scheme of things, what to do with one small child was well down on the list of the Council’s priorities. While they clearly didn’t like the idea, Yoda and Windu finally let her escape with tacit permission to keep Boba in her custody until a better situation could be arranged.

Not one to stick around and risk having them change their minds, Naroko hurried off to track down the young clone and her own Padawan. They were in the quarters they shared with Naroko, and had managed to get down to the dining hall and fetch food. She was relieved to see that. It meant she wouldn’t have to inflict her terrible skills at cooking on either of them. She’d tried putting together dinner last night, but the results had made Boba look at her in such horror that she immediately decided to take them to Dex’s instead.

She had many talents. Cooking was _not_ one of them.

Ayliah had brought back dishes of noodles, steamed vegetables, and bits of meat, along with a small variety of flavorful sauces. Boba was currently looking at these in disdain as he piled gobs of a bright red paste she knew to be extremely spicy into his bowl. “How did your meeting with the Council go, Master?” she asked. One of her lekku slid over her shoulder. She absently shoved it back out of her way, looking at Naroko with concern. Boba too looked up from his bowl, his expression turning wary.

She smiled gently and rested a hand on his shoulder, projecting reassurance. “Well, fortunately I didn’t meet with the whole Council, just Master Yoda and Master Windu.”

Boba made a little sound of disgust. It hadn’t taken him long to suss out the fact that Windu had been responsible for his father’s death, and he had quite naturally developed an intense dislike for the Korun Master. She gave him a sympathetic look before continuing. “They’re letting me keep custody of Boba for now, at least.”

“That’s good!” Ayliah said, brightening.

Naroko took a seat, looking closely at Boba. He was poking at a bit of roasted squash with his fork, radiating a knotted mess of emotions. But relief was foremost among them, despite the rest of his conflict, so she chose to take that as a good sign. “Boba?” she asked. “Is that alright with you?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said quietly. “So I guess it’s okay.”

She nodded. “But it’s all strange here, and you don’t much like Jedi, and you miss your father,” she said. Certainly the feelings spilling off him into the Force said as much.

“Yeah.”

“Boba.” She gently brushed his hair out of his face, and he reluctantly looked up at her. “It’s alright to be feeling all those things.Things here are very different. The Jedi are very different. And your father was very important to you. It’s okay that you’re upset and not sure.”

His shoulders hunched a little, and she withdrew her hand. “I miss him,” he said in a small voice.

“I know.” She just wished she knew what else to tell him. The Jedi philosophy, of rejoicing for those who had gone to join the Force, seemed very poor comfort to offer him. Not to mention out of place. He was not, after all, a Jedi.

She resolved to go and do more research as soon as she could. Luck turned out to be with her, on this much at least. After a rather subdued lunch that Boba only picked at dispiritedly before asking to be excuse and retreating to the small office that they’d hastily converted into a bedroom for him, Naroko was able to track down ObiWan.

He greeted her with a weary smile as he opened the door to find her standing there. “Naroko- wonderful. I was hoping to see you, actually.”

“I’m just glad you’re finally out of debriefings.” She hugged him tight, squeaking a little as he all but squeezed the breath from her in return. They had grown up together, raised in the same creche. While he’d been given to the Temple bare days after birth, she had been two when she’d been sent to the Order. The four-year-old ObiWan and five-year-old Quinlan Vos had immediately proceeded to adopt her, and the three had been close ever since.

“So am I,” he said, drawing her inside and shutting the door behind her. “I have a favor to ask-”

She looked him over, taking in his condition by eye and through the Force. “Oh, you’re in molt, aren’t you?”

He nodded, looking a little sheepish as he always did. They discovered, when he was about sixteen, that somewhere back in his family tree an ancestor of his had interbred with an Iegan. It had to have been at least several generations back, but the mixed bloodline had left ObiWan with a pair of large, feathered wings that he could manifest at will. He did so only rarely, but that did not suppress other peculiarities of his heritage entirely. Twice a year he molted all those feathers, a process that left him irritable- and itchy- for two weeks as a new set of plumage came in. She’d thought he’d been due before this whole mess with the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala had gone down.

“I’d be happy to help, if you’ll let me pick your brain in return.” She moved over and seated herself on the couch, and ObiWan followed, stopping just long enough to collect a few items. Manifesting his wings, he turned and sat before her, letting one spread over her lap. Then he handed her a small brush and a vial of oil. These she set aside for a moment in favor of lightly running her hands over the feathered expanse of his wings. The feathers were a brilliant white for the most part, with the coverts along the upper edge showing flecks of pale gold and the primaries and secondaries barred in a metallic copper not unlike his hair. They glowed softly, though with the onset of molt the glow was more subdued than usual. “Anakin still on Naboo?”

“He is,” he said. “Escorting Senator Amidala back home. He said he was adjusting alright to the new prosthesis before he left.”

“Oh good.” She had only gotten a brief opportunity to look in on him before he’d left, before he’d been fitted for his replacement forearm. “It’s always a rough experience, losing a limb. I’ll check in with him when he gets back.”

“Thank you.” He closed his eyes, relaxing as she began inspecting each feather along the length of his wing. The little coverts that covered the leading edge were shed and replaced throughout the year, so aside from giving them a brief preen with her fingers and the oil from the vial he’d given her, she didn’t spend too much time on them. His primaries and secondaries, on the other hand…

“Dear one, did you have these out during the fighting?” she asked. His sheepish shrug and the condition of his feathers told him all she needed to know. Several of them were bent or even broken, shafts snapped near the ends and reddish dirt ground into the barbs. It looked as if he’d been flying and hit the ground at speed, perhaps even gone tumbling. The handful of black streaks were a silent testament to his having used his wings as additional shields during the fighting. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re going to get new ones in a week or so. I won’t have to imp in spares from your last molt.” She tugged a loose primary from its bed and eyed it in disapproval. Normally the feather would be nearly as long as her arm. The last third of it had been snapped off. “As it is, you’re not going to get many spares from this one.”

“I had a rough few days,” he said with another shrug. “What did you want to pick my brain about?”

“Mandalorians.”

He twisted about to look at her, one brow raised in inquiry. “Why?”

“You remember Boba Fett, I hope?”

“Yes… he’s the unaltered clone Jango Fett was raising as his son. I met him briefly while I was talking with Fett on Kamino. Suspicious little thing…” He frowned then. “I don’t know what happened to him after the battle…”

“I took him in.”

“You- of course you did.”

“Of _course_ I did!” she snapped. “I wasn’t about to leave a ten year old to fend for himself after I found him sobbing over his father’s death on a battlefield!”

She was very gratified to see him wince, and all his coverts flattened down. His feathers were an excellent indicator of his mood, and they were doing a very good job of saying he was rather ashamed about not thinking about the fate of the boy he’d met once the fighting was done. “No… no, you’re right, of course you couldn’t leave him there,” he said quietly. “But- he’s still with you?”

“Yes. At least for now. And while I have a general idea how to handle a grieving child of his age, I don’t know how to integrate that awareness with all the little peculiarities of Mandalorian culture. Force knows, using the Jedi model of handling grief isn’t going to help the boy. So, Kenobi.” She nudged him with her knee. “Start talking. You’re the only one I know who’s spent any significant amount of time with them, and there’s only so much I can pull from the archives.”

“Right.” He nodded and settled himself again, and she continued removing loose feathers and setting them aside in piles organized by their condition. Once he was comfortable, he started talking, describing what he had learned of the culture from his year spent guarding Satine Kryze, the importance of family and clan, a little of the general mentality of their people, and listened when she described what she’d managed to learn so far. “I’ll admit, though, Satine had a different perspective on things than someone like Fett would have,” he said. “Fett sounds like he came from a much more… traditional background than Satine then. She always hoped to make her people more peaceful, and that’s… rather contrary to the typical Mandalorian mindset.”

She grimaced and ran oiled fingers along the shaft of a secondary feather that wasn’t quite ready to be shed yet, grooming it back into order. “I don’t see how he’d become a bounty hunter if he was onboard with this new vision of the Kryzes’,” she pointed out. “So… what do I do for Boba?”

“Two things, I can be fairly certain of that much at least. First, offer to remember his father with him. Their mourning practices include a daily remembrance and naming of the dead- the thought is that the memory helps keep the person… with them, in a way.” He had calmed after his momentary distress, and seemed quite content to hold forth on his subject. “Their thought is more that the person isn’t gone, but ‘marching far away’ in the world after death, and the remembrance keeps a little part of them with those they left behind. The ritual phrase is ‘ _Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum._ ’”

  
She repeated the words as carefully as she could, but they did not come easily to her tongue. He winced and repeated the phrase several more times until she could, eventually, parrot them without mangling them too badly. “What does it mean?”

“ ‘I am still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal,’” he replied, still looking slightly pained. “Ask him to tell you stories about his father, if he’s able to handle it.”

“I’ll do that. What’s the second thing?”

“Well, it’s- more in regards to raising him than just helping him deal with his grief,” he said. “Mandalorians are raised with the Resol’nare, the Six Actions. They’re the basic tenets of Mandalorian culture- if you don’t live by the Resol’nare, you aren’t Mandalorian.”

She bit her lip, wondering how she was going to manage to give Boba such a structure here in the Jedi Temple. But- well, she had promised to do her best by him, so she would have to at least try. “And these are?”

He began counting on his fingers. “Wearing armor. It’s long since become the physical symbol of their identity. You see that armor, you pretty much know you’re looking at a Mandalorian warrior. It’s like looking at a lightsaber and _knowing_ it as a symbol of the Jedi. Speaking the language- again, another touchstone of their cultural identity. Language carries ideas and is- you could say it’s the expression of the soul of a culture. Defending yourself and your family. Pretty much expected for a clan-oriented warrior culture. Likewise, contributing to the clan’s welfare. Raise your children as Mandalorians. And rallying to the cause of the Mand’alor, or leader, when they call.”

She blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s the basics,” he agreed, turning so she could tend to his other wing. “Abide by those tenets, and culturally, you’re considered Mandalorian. And I can confirm that Fett lived by at least three that I witnessed, and I feel fairly safe in assuming he lived by two more. He wore the armor, he spoke the language, he was obviously protective of his son and was absolutely willing to fight me to ensure their safety. He certainly commanded a high enough fee to fulfill the ‘contribution’ part of the Reso’lnare, and it looked like he was raising Boba according to at least some of those ideas.”

“Huh. That… doesn’t sound too complicated…”

“You _heard_ yourself trying to pronounce Mando’a, right?”

“Not everyone’s had the luxury of a year of language immersion, ObiWan.”

He grinned at her. “Point. I can help with that much, at least. And the clones know some Mando’a. You’ll probably pick a bit up from them.”

“That assumes I’m assigned to work with any.”

His smile turned to a slight grimace. “We’re all going to be working with them. At least, that’s what it’s starting to look like. The Senate pushed through a modified version of the Military Creation Act. Owing to ‘the remarkable cooperation between the Jedi Order and the clone troopers demonstrated on Geonosis’, and from some of what the Kaminoan representative Lama Su rushed out here said, the Chancellor has decreed that the clone army will serve under the ‘leadership and guidance of the Jedi Order, so that they may be empowered to protect the Galactic Republic as per their longstanding charge on a scale required to execute that duty in this onsetting time of war’.

Naroko stared at him, completely appalled. Did that mean what she thought it meant? “ObiWan- that-”

“It means, according to the most likely speculation, that we’re going to be put in command of clone troops.”

“Has the Senate gone completely _mad_? We’re not soldiers! We’re adjudicators! Peacekeepers! We don’t lead troops into war, we stop wars!” The entire idea was horrific, and went entirely against the idea of what the Jedi were supposed to be. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to stomach leading an army.

He sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand out at odd angles. “I know. And the Council is extremely displeased. But- well… we’re stuck, Naroko. We’re supposed to be under Senate authority. And we’re supposed to be the protectors of the Republic. By either of those demands alone, we have to get involved.” He grimaced, and all his feathers flattened with unhappiness. “The only good thing about this is that we’re the ones who would most reliably work to end this mess as soon as possible.”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing?” In what universe was that a silver lining to their situation? The Jedi were going into war, and it wasn’t even on their own terms. She cursed softly under her breath.

“I can teach you some Mandalorian ones, if you want.”

She almost kicked him then in a fit of pique, angered that he could jest in such a situation. But then reason reasserted itself. This was ObiWan. He had always been prone to snark under pressure, using it as one of the few outlets he had for his feelings. That snark had just gotten drier and sharper as he’d gotten older. Taking a deep breath, she forced her annoyance down as not helpful to the situation. “Probably not a great idea. I would rather not have any of the other Masters getting on my case about teaching Boba bad manners.

He turned then, folding his wings at his back and resting a hand on her knee. “This whole situation is a mess. I don’t think anything good will come of it. And- I won’t lie to you, Naroko. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what this is going to do to the Jedi. It would be all too easy for us to be twisted out of true by being forced into roles we shouldn’t be in. But I don’t see we have any other choice at the moment. At least if we’re commanding the army, we can… set limits. And be in a position to end this war as soon as we can.” He squeezed gently. “If it helps, I don’t think they’d send you to the front lines. The Council is aware of your limits. But you’ll be called on to help, just like the rest of us.”

“And I’ll answer,” she said quietly. That was what Jedi _did_. When there was trouble, when there was conflict, the Jedi were called to help, and the Jedi answered. Or they were supposed to. It was never enough, of course. There was never enough of them, and they always seemed to be diverted away from places where they were needed the most.  
Force, with them being called away to this war, there were going to be even fewer Jedi to spare for their real work. Who knew what effects that was going to have…

Those unhappy thoughts were still swirling around her brain as she headed back to her quarters. Ayliah was sprawled on the low couch, staring at one of the medical texts Naroko had assigned her to study and looking as if she’d prefer to be taking a nap instead. She looked up and gave her mentor a weary smile. “Hey Master. You find ObiWan?”

“I did. He had some good ideas.” Coming over, she lightly rested a hand on her Padawan’s shoulder, sending a brush of quiet affection and approval for her attempt at studying.

“Where’s Boba?”

“His room. Still pretty upset.”

Not much surprise there. She gave Ayliah’s shoulder a squeeze and went to the closed door to the room they’d made over for Boba. She knocked, then slowly cracked the door open and poked her head inside. “Boba? May I come in?”

The boy was curled up at the far end of the pallet they’d made up for him, back firmly pressed into the corner. Glancing up, he nodded reluctantly. She slipped in and sat next to him, giving him a bit of space. There was another plate of cookies on the floor by the pallet. The crumbs scattered on it told her that it had until recently held cookies. Ayliah again.

“I talked to a friend of mine,” she said quietly. His eyes never left her. She’d noticed that about him- he was always watching the people around him. “He lived on Mandalore for a year and could tell me a little about your people.”

He frowned then. “A jetii?” he asked, plainly puzzled.

She nodded. “He was protecting the heir to the ducal throne from Death Watch. Do you know what-” She didn’t actually have to finish that question. The moment she mentioned Death Watch, he stiffened, hands clenched on the blankets. “You do, yes.”

“Dad said they killed his clan,” he said. “They were trying to kill the Duchess too?”

“They were. My friend was assigned to go into hiding with her and protect her while his Master dealt with things on a more… official level. So he got to learn a lot about the world and the people, even the language. He’s offered to teach me some, so that maybe maybe I can help you a little better.”

He sat back, digesting that. After a moment his brow furrowed. “Why?” he asked. Confusion and suspicion rolled off him. “Why are you doing all this?” he finally asked.

“Why’s a Jedi so concerned about learning about Mandalorians?” she asked, smiling. He made a face, and she chuckled softly. “Was your father trying to raise you like a Mandalorian?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Even if we were just a two-person clan…”

“I want to respect that effort. It’s important. You aren’t a Jedi. I shouldn’t be trying to raise you like one. And- I’d like you to be comfortable here with us.”

She watched as he mulled this over. She had noticed that, while he had a rather surly streak to him, he tended to respond better when she took the time to explain things to him. This was no coddled child. Jango Fett had been teaching his son to think, and think carefully. He might not care for some of her decisions, but he’d usually go along with them once she’d taken a moment to explain her reasoning. Finally he spoke. “You’re not like any jetii Dad ever told me about,” he said. “Dad said you don’t care. You’ll come in and make decisions for people and go away again and it doesn’t matter what you leave behind. You don’t care about the people who are hurting and need help. And you think we’re bad for fighting all the time, even when we’re fighting for what’s right. And that you _steal children_ , because you don’t have any of your own. And you don’t have feelings.”

Well, that was certainly an uncharitable view of the Jedi Order. She arched her brows slightly, but didn’t interrupt. Even if a large part of her wanted to protest that, that the Jedi _weren’t_ really like that, well, it wasn’t too hard to see how someone whose people had a certain historical antagonism with the Order might draw those conclusions.

  
After all, hadn’t she just been thinking about how there were never _enough_ Jedi to tend to all the hurts in the Galaxy? And thinking about how this war would draw them away so there would be even fewer?

Even if the sentiment wasn’t factually wrong, the spirit of it… well, there was some justification for that, from a certain point of view.

Quite the bitter pill to swallow. Clearly she should do some thinking.

“Did he know any Jedi?” she asked. When he shook his head, she smiled and gently patted his hand. “Well, I do. Our job is to protect the Republic, and help those who need it. The problem is… it’s a really big galaxy, and there’s not enough of us to help everyone. That- makes it hard to do our jobs well. But we try. We try hard. And that help- well, sometimes it doesn’t make everyone happy. Maybe the right thing to do is one thing, and there are people who oppose it even if they aren’t bad people, so they aren’t happy with the results. Maybe we can’t get people to listen. Or maybe we just aren’t fast enough or familiar enough with a problem or have the right kind of background in order to come up with a solution that works for everyone. Or because there aren’t enough of us, we can’t get sent to deal with a problem before it gets so big it’s hurting many, many people. Does that make sense?”

His brow furrowed as he pondered that, and shrugged. “Kinda, I guess. Doesn’t make it okay.”

“Maybe. We aren’t perfect. About the children, though… Boba, no, we don’t steal children.” That was an entirely distasteful idea. “People give children to us, because either they think it’s a great honor to be a Jedi, or because their child is displaying strange abilities that they don’t understand or can’t teach them how to use. Or sometimes we find children in very, very bad home lives and bring them away with us to give them a better home.” She smiled sadly. “That’s how Ayliah came to us. Her mother-” She hesitated a moment. Boba seemed rather young to understand brothels, or how things often were in the seedier establishments. She chose to explain it in vaguer terms. “Her mother worked for people who used her for their own gain, and when she died there was no one who would take care of Ayliah and protect her from those people. My Master and I found her, and we brought her here because she was Force-sensitive. If she hadn’t been, we would have found someone else to take her in.”

Once again he mulled this over. Finally, he scowled. “This is making my head hurt,” he complained.

She chuckled and leaned over to give him a little hug around the shoulders. “I’ll bet. Tell you what, we’ll leave this talk about how the Jedi do things there for now. My friend told me about something Mandalorians do to remember those who’ve died. It’s- a recitation?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “We’re supposed to do it every day. You say the words, and try to remember things about whoever died.” He looked thoughtful, then scooted so he could curl up against her side. She smiled softly and petted his hair. He might be skeptical about the Jedi as a whole, but he seemed to be coming around to her and Ayliah a little.

“He taught me the words, so I can say them with you,” she offered. “And then after, maybe you could tell me some stories about your father? Would that help?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

He started speaking the ritual phrase, and she joined after a moment. Three words in, he stopped and looked at her in utter dismay. “Your accent is terrible.”

She laughed. “Yes, I know,” she said ruefully. “You’re just going to have to teach me to speak them better.”

He gave her a dubious look. “I don’t know if that’s _possible_ …” he said slowly.

To her surprise, she sensed a hint of amusement from him. Smiling wryly, she raised an eyebrow at him. He was _teasing_ her. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, face solemn. “I’ve never heard anyone speak Mando’a so bad.”

“If you think that’s bad, you should hear me speak Twi’leki.” She’d actually gotten fairly competent with the Twi’leki she’d picked up from Ayliah and Aayla Secura, but that was beside the point right now. She was more than happy to encourage Boba in his teasing, if it meant he was feeling comfortable enough to venture the attempt. Laughing softly, she ruffled his hair. “You’re a little scamp, aren’t you?” When he grinned- actually grinned- she tapped a fingertip against his nose. “No need to answer that. I can see it quite clearly. Now, where were we?”

“ _Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,_ ” he said. Slowly, trying not to fumble the words, she repeated them with him, pretending ruefulness at his increasingly exasperated expression. At last he flopped across her lap, making muffled sounds of dismay against the blankets. “Terrible. Just t- ack!”

She tickled his sides, making him squeak and flail about. “I said I would work on it,” she said with immense dignity, not relenting until he tumbled clear off her lap and onto the floor with a thump.

“Oof,” he said into the carpet.

“You alright there?”

“Yeah.” He pushed himself up and climbed back up next to her. He went quiet again, his good humor faded, to be replaced by a prickling sense of guilt. “Naroko?”

“Yes, Boba?” she asked.

“Is it-” he hesitated, looking a little lost as he peered up into her face.

“Is it what?” She petted his hair back, trying to deduce what he was getting at. He’d been having a good time, then he’d felt guilty- Ah. “Is it okay that you’re able to be happy even when your father’s gone?”

He started in surprise, staring up at her. Slowly, he nodded. She hugged him. “It is,” she said softly. “It doesn’t mean you miss him any less, or that he wasn’t important. It just means you’re still living. And…” She considered a moment. “I couldn’t speak for your father, but I know if I died, I’d want Ayliah to remember how to be happy, even though she missed me.”

“That’s right!” Ayliah called from the next room. “But better still, how about you _don’t_ die, okay Master?”

Boba smiled weakly as Naroko rolled her eyes. Even so, she sent a pulse of affection down the bond to her Padawan, and received a surge of warmth along it in return. “Not dying is rather high on my to-do list.”

“Good! Keep it there!”

She sighed and let Boba curl up against her side again. “Now… you were going to tell me stories about your father?”


	3. Boba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba wasn't sure what to expect from the jetiise. 
> 
> Tickle fights and model kits definitely weren't on that list, though.

The jetiise were not like what Boba had been expecting.

When his father had talked about them, he’d come away with an impression of cold, uncaring judges, of people arrogant enough to assume they always knew best, as aloof and coolly calculating as the Kaminoans.

He had not expected a pair of nineteen-year-olds wrestling and attempting to put one another in headlocks.

At the moment it was Ayliah who had the upper hand and was tickling the young man introduced to him as Anakin Skywalker without mercy. He was laughing, trying to shake off the red-skinned Twi’lek without luck. Boba watched the pair of them with round eyes from his hiding place behind the two adult jetiise who were looking on with wry amusement. Jetiise, he’d thought, were supposed to be dignified, and these two were roughhousing like a pair of cadets. Even as he watched they tumbled to the floor in a tangle, Ayliah managing to wind up on top and pinning her friend down.

Anakin laughed, trying to get his arm up to protect his face. “Alright!” he said. “I yield!”

She looked smug as she got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Like I said,” she announced smugly. “I am a _delight_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Anakin muttered, getting to his own feet.

Boba looked between them, then up at Naroko. “Are they _always_ like that?” he asked.

It wasn’t Naroko who answered, but the jetii who had found them on Kamino, the one called ObiWan Kenobi. “All the time,” he said in a long-suffering tone. “It’s good for them, I suppose.”

He wasn’t certain what he thought of ObiWan. Oh, he supposed he seemed nice enough, and he was the friend of Naroko’s who spoke fluent Mando’a- though with an odd accent Boba couldn’t quite place- but he was the one who had found them on Kamino. The moment the copper-haired jetii had walked through the doors to the Fetts’ quarters, Boba’s life had turned upside down. He couldn’t help but dislike him for that, no matter how nice he was.

It had been a rather unpleasant jolt to learn that Kenobi spoke Mando’a. His father had given him directions in that tongue in front of the jetii, to hide his beskar’gam in the next room to throw him off the track. Kenobi would have understood every word. Was that what had made him so suspicious as to follow them to the _Slave I_?

That train of thought was interrupted when Ayliah sent a pillow flying across the room in response to something Anakin had said. Boba instinctively ducked back, but the jetii’bir only laughed and flung it back at her. It was just so _strange_ to see these two playing. He hadn’t spent much time with the other clones- they might have been grown from the same DNA, but his father had never encouraged him to see them as brothers- but he’d never seen the fully-grown clones romping around like this. The young ones, the cadets, yes, on those occasions where they weren’t so worn out from training that they had the energy for it.

“I’m going to go make some tea,” Ayliah announced. She smiled warmly. “Want to come help me? We can make some chocolate for you.”

He only had to consider this for a moment before nodding eagerly and trotting after her. He adored hot chocolate, even if the jetiise didn’t make it quite right.

“Sorry about Ani,” she said, leading him off into the kitchenette. “He’s a handful on the best of days, but he means well. He’s got a good heart.” She paused, then added with a grin, “Deeeeeep down.”

“Must be real deep then,” he said dryly.

She laughed and ruffled his hair. “He comes from a hard background, much like I did. He and his mother were slaves on Tattoine.” Her expression sobered as she turned and started taking tea things from the cabinet. “My mother was sold onto a moon of Ryloth, and I was born into slavery as well, even if I got out of it a lot younger than he did. The Jedi don’t have the resources to stop slavery, even though they want to. So people like my mother and Anakin sometimes get lost in the shuffle for a time.”

He frowned. “Naroko said something like that.”

“I know.” She smiled crookedly. “I have a gift for sensing thoughts, and she senses emotions. I’ve been staying out of your mind, so you don’t feel uncomfortable.”

He shuddered and made a face. “Good. I don’t like the idea of people being in my head.” Especially since he didn’t think a lot of jetiise would like what he was thinking about them. It was kind of a scary thought. What could anyone who wasn’t a jetii do against powers that would let someone look into your thoughts? Emotions were one thing. His father had taught him about reading body language and microexpressions to get a sense of what a person was feeling, and what Naroko did just seemed to be like that, only more accurate. Reading thoughts was something else entirely.

“I thought that might be the case.” Still smiling, she pressed the kettle into his hands. “Fill that with water for me? That was how Naroko and her Master found me. I sensed the thoughts of a man I was about to be sold to. I was three at the time, and scared of him. So… I reached out-” She made a shoving gesture and grinned. “And the Force answered my call. I blew out the door.”

His eyes widened even as he took the kettle over to the sink and started the tap running. “Wow.

She nodded, fetching down the canister of chocolate mix. “Yeah… When I was taken in by the Temple, I finally felt safe. A three year old shouldn’t be that scared of her surroundings, and I finally wasn’t scared anymore.”

Boba mulled that over for a few minutes as he brought the filled kettle back to her and watched as she laid out cups and sugar and milk. The longer he spent with the jetiise, the more uncertain he felt. His father had talked about why you couldn’t trust them, had made it very clear they were people you didn’t really want around.

And yet, hearing them talk… they didn’t seem all that bad. Naroko and Ayliah in particular were treating him… pretty well. They explained things to him. They made sure he understood why they were doing things, just like his dad did when he’d taught him. Naroko was very kind, and good for hugs when he was upset or lonely. Ayliah kept bringing him cookies. Even Skywalker and Kenobi seemed alright, in their own way. What had his father known that made him so leery of them?

When he quietly said that she and Naroko weren’t anything like he’d expected, though, she didn’t seem upset or judgmental. “I know,” she said. “Does that upset you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

She was quiet a moment, then rested a hand on his shoulder. “I do want you to understand something, Boba,” she said. “Naroko and I will _never_ force you to live like a Jedi. You’re Mando, and we want to help you remember that.”

Something about that seemed to take a weight off his shoulders, and he nodded. Despite how nice these two had been, despite how they’d certainly been making an effort to learn about his people and how he’d been raised, he’d been nervous that they might try and make him live like one of them at some point. Or that their alors might make them stop trying to raise him like a Mandalorian. That would have been even worse. “Thank you,” he said.

She gave him a little hug around the shoulders. “You know, if you like, I can teach you about Twi’leks too,” she offered. “I’ll even teach you some Twi’leki if you’ll teach me Mando’a.”

He thought about that, and smiled shyly. “I’d like that.”

She grinned, then looked up towards the door. “You can come in now, Master ObiWan.”

The copper-haired jetii slipped in, a slightly sheepish expression on his face. “Oh good,” he said. “Anakin’s talking to Naroko and I don’t think he’d be happy if I listened in. He seemed upset about something, but he wouldn’t tell me.”  
Ayliah started heating milk in a small pan and added chocolate to it. “I thought he was going to try and talk to her,” she said. “Boba, how do you want this?”

“Spiced,” he said immediately. The interpersona goings-on of jetiise rather paled in comparison to the allure of hot chocolate.

She grinned. “You like everything spiced.”

“Mandalorians like their food spicy,” Kenobi said with a shrug and a small smile, and Boba nodded. He fetched the canister of ground pepper flakes and pressed it into Ayliah’s hand. She obligingly added a generous measure as Kenobi poured out cups of tea. Sitting with his cup of chocolate, he listened to the two jetiise talk quietly. Kenobi was worried for his apprentice, his jetii’bir, but Ayliah managed to reassure him. Whatever was bothering Anakin, Naroko would help him sort out, and he wasn’t to blame himself. After a time, Kenobi rejoined the others, their mugs floating along in his wake. Boba eyed this display with a scowl. Just when he was getting used to these people, they went and did something unnatural. And they did it so _casually_. As if they didn’t think normal people wouldn’t be startled by things like mugs flying around at the wave of a hand.

He sat with Ayliah for a while, sipping his spiced chocolate and nibbling on the cookie she slipped him. They talked a little. Ayliah told him more about her Master when he tentatively asked. The more he listened, the more he could see just how much she adored the older jetii.

_She talks about her like- like she’s her daughter_ , not her student, he realized. And the affection was certainly mutual. Naroko might be softer about it, but she clearly regarded Ayliah as more beloved offspring than mere apprentice. What she’d done for Boba, helping him get settled in, trying to make him feel better as he got used to his new surroundings, she had done for Ayliah when she was little.

“Is she always like that?” he finally asked.

“Bringing people home, you mean?” She grinned down at him. “Sometimes. She has a mothering streak to her.”

“Never had a mother,” he said.

“And I never had a father.” Wrapping her arm around him, she cuddled him. He leaned into the embrace. “Did your dad do a lot of side jobs, on Kamino?”

He nodded. “Yeah, he was gone a lot, when he wasn’t helping with the training programs or designing armor there on Kamino.”

She looked at him curiously. “I thought the armor looked a little Mando in design. That was his work?”

Again he nodded, but this time it was with a proud smile. His father had done very good work. Sometimes he thought that there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.  
It was nice, being hugged, even if it was by Ayliah instead of his father. She petted his hair gently, just like his father used to do. He had relaxed when she started doing that, and was even close to dozing when she asked if he’d spent much time with the other clones. He made a face at that. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Dad said they had a purpose, and they needed to spend their time training, not playing.” And yet his father had always seemed a little… dissatisfied about that. Almost regretful, even if Boba had no idea why. “It was just us most of the time.”

“What was your favorite thing to do with him?”

He had to think about that for a moment. There were lots of things he loved doing with his father. He might take him up in _Slave I_ and explain how the controls worked, or even let Boba try his hand at flying the ship- even if he was too short to reach the foot pedals yet. Or he’d tell him stories while he cleaned his weapons and armor. Sometimes they’d sneak off to the lowest balconies in Tipoca City and fish over the side. And sometimes…

“Playing ships,” he finally said. He’d had a nice little collection of toy ships back on Kamino. They’d been his favorites.

To his surprise, Ayliah smiled broadly. “Ah, another ship enthusiast,” she said with a laugh. “Tell you what. Anakin builds ship models all the time, when he gets the chance. Maybe I can convince him to let you borrow a few.”

“I’d like that,” he said with a shy smile of his own.

He found himself being drawn along on a mission to do just that. Anakin and Kenobi shared quarters just down the hall from Naroko and Ayliah, so it wasn’t a long trip. He didn’t know what Anakin and Naroko had been talking about, or when they finished, but when Ayliah knocked it was to be greeted with a grouchy-looking Skywalker.

“What?” he demanded. When he glanced down and saw Boba, he immediately softened his expression. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey,” Ayliah said. “We’re borrowing some of your ship models for Boba!”

Boba started at that. Hadn’t they been going to, well, ask?

“Do I have any choice in the matter, or is this a hostile takeover?”

Ayliah grinned. “You don’t. Surrender now and I might be merciful.”

Anakin sighed and stood aside. Despite his aggrieved manner, Boba didn’t think he was actually annoyed. Was this… _normal_ for them? He didn’t quite understand what he was seeing. Ayliah had led him inside before Anakin spoke up again. “Actually- why borrow mine? Why don’t we get him his own?”

“Oh _there’s_ an idea!” she said brightly. “Would you like that, Boba?”

He nodded. He liked that better than borrowing Anakin’s, actually. “Can we?” he asked, looking up at them hopefully. He tried- really he did- not to employ the slightly pleading look that sometimes worked with his father.

“Sure.” Anakin seemed to be cheering up by the moment. “Why don’t you let Naroko and ObiWan know, Liah? I’ll take him.”

Shortly thereafter, Boba found himself standing in a shop half a dozen megablocks from the Temple, in one of three very narrow aisles lined with shelves absolutely crammed with toy starships, tiny figures, and boxes of model kits. He’d never in his life imagined such a place. His father had always brought back individual ships or kits for him from his travels. This- this place was _amazing_.

Anakin was grinning as Boba slowly turned in place, craning his neck to look at the shelves and shelves of kits. There were so _many_ …

“Go ahead and pick out a few, Boba,” he said, ruffling his hair. “I’ll even help you build them if you need help.” He gave Boba a little nudge.

Dazed, Boba poked through the displays, examining each and every model and kit on offer. He didn’t initially know what he was looking for. There were so many different kinds of ships in this little shop. He’d been vaguely aware that there were many, many sorts of ships, but it was dazzling to see such a huge selection all lined up like this. How was he supposed to even start making a decision?

And then he turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at a display.

The model in front of him looked vaguely pachydermic in form, its tall, upright orientation and jutting wings evoking the head, trunk, and flapping ears of such a beast. The one on display was painted in grey and yellow, but the shape alone was enough to completely choke him up.

_Firespray-31 class_ , the label read.

Throat tight and aching and eyes stinging- he really, really didn’t want to cry in the middle of the shop- he carefully picked up the kit and hugged it to his chest. He’d have to ask for some blue paint, if the kit only came with yellow and grey…

  
He picked out a couple more kits more or less at random, carrying them back to where Anakin was waiting and chatting with the owner. “All set?” he asked.  
He nodded and set the small pile of boxes on the counter. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He thought maybe if he did, he’d lose all self-control right then and there. Anakin looked at him in concern, but he just ducked his head to hide the tears threatening to spill over.

Boba insisted on carrying the Firespray kit himself as they returned to the speeder and buckled in for the ride back to the Temple.

“Hey,” Anakin asked quietly. “You okay?”

He nodded again and hastily wiped his eyes. “Yeah,” he managed. “I just-” He looked down at the kit. “This was the kind of ship Dad had.”

Where _was Slave I anyway_? They had flown it to Geonosis after they had thought they’d blown up Kenobi’s fighter, and landed it very near the droid factory. He hadn’t seen it since they’d left for the execution of the Senator and the two jetiise. Was it still there? Had it been destroyed in the fighting? He had no idea.

A hand, knobbly and mechanical, rested briefly on his shoulder. He glanced up just in time to see Anakin look away from flying long enough to give him a look of sincere sympathy. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I- lost my mom a couple of weeks ago too.”

He sniffed and frowned. Hadn’t Naroko or Ayliah mentioned something about Anakin having come to the Temple late? “How?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Anakin’s expression darkened into a look of deep pain and a lurking anger that made Boba a bit nervous. The air inside the speeder suddenly seemed… tense. Like being out on a balcony in Tipoca City just before one of the really big thunderstorms. It was almost hard to breathe. “She was kidnapped from- from her new family on Tattooine,” he said. “Do you know what the Sand People are?”

He shook his head.

“They’re barbarians who live out in the desert,” Anakin said bitterly. “They make raids on homesteads sometimes. Usually they just try to destroy vaporators and other equipment, but sometimes they’ll make off with livestock or kidnap people. They- hurt her really bad. And then they killed her.”

Boba shivered. Anakin’s anger was a palpable thing, rolling off him in waves. He knew, without being told, that something else really bad had happened. He also knew he really, really didn’t want to ask. “I’m sorry about your mom,” he said in a small voice.

Anakin’s jaw worked for a moment, then he took a deep, shaking breath and let it out. Some of that thunderstorm-tenseness left the air, and Boba could breathe again. He wondered if that was the Force. If it was…

_Maybe it’s a good thing Jedi try to stay so calm all the time._

“Sorry,” Anakin muttered. “I’m not supposed to get angry like that… I just miss her, a lot.”

Boba just nodded and hugged the kit to his chest. They were quiet as they flew back to the Temple and Anakin saw him returned to Naroko’s and Ayliah’s quarters. He retreated to his room once Naroko had found him some blue paint for his kit and sat to work putting the Firespray-31 together. Assembling the pieces was- nice, actually. Peaceful. Even if it stung to give the little ship shape, it was still better than thinking about his father, and thinking about Anakin, angry and in pain over the death of his mother. He wondered if anyone was helping Anakin, the way they were helping him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mandoa:  
> Jetiise- Jedi, plural  
> Beskar'gam- armor  
> Alor- leader  
> Jetii'bir- Padawan (compounded from jetii, Jedi, and hibir, student. Lit. Jedi-student)
> 
> Thanks to the Geyi'kaab Discord server for assistance in coming up with a word for Padawan, and thanks to DiaryOfAWriter for helping me plot out this chapter.


	4. Differences in Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jedi are taught that violence is not the go-to solution for a problem.
> 
> Mandalorians... aren't.

Boba was pretty sure from the start that this idea of Naroko’s was not going to work.

Oh it made sense. She and her Padawan were as busy as his father was. As much as he wanted to stick close to them, there were times when he would just get in the way of them doing their job. So something needed to be done with him while they were busy. And he needed something to do himself. Children, his father had often said, needed to learn, and needed teachers, and things to learn from. Back on Kamino, his schooling had been a bit disjointed. He had some lessons with Jango. Those were the ones he liked best- lessons in fighting, or tending armor, or how starships worked, or hunting, accompanied by his father’s stories about Concord Dawn and Mandalore and the people there. He had others with the cadets. Those were… distinctly frustrating at times. The clones had been altered in various ways, and it showed in how they were taught. They learned fast, soaking up years’ worth of academic study in the span of months and absorbing it in ways Boba couldn’t quite grasp. From the time they were a few months old they were put on a strictly-ordered regimen of education designed to compress twenty years of learning into half that time. It started with the littlest, who were quickly rushed through the basics of developing motor- and hand-eye coordination, learning symbols and colors and cooperation, and continued from there. Cadets were taught reading and figuring starting by the time they were two standard years old. From there, they were taught only what soldiers and support troops needed to know- tactics and strategy appropriate for the sort of position they were destined for, mechanical and combat engineering, piloting, navigation, gear and equipment maintenance, first aid, infiltration and exfiltration, logistics and supply… all of it geared towards producing fully-trained troops in ten years or less. Their brains had been manipulated subtly to help them absorb and process all of this information. 

Boba’s brain had not. He had struggled with the pace of learning. Even when placed with cadets who were half his physical age- and therefore roughly about as ‘grown’ as he was- he simply couldn’t keep up with their curriculum. His father had tried to have him sit in with the cadets’ classes starting when he was about seven, but after a full year where he’d come home in tears from frustration and despair at not being able to keep up with the clones, Jango had pulled him from the group classes and had taught him on his own instead, with help from some of the other Mandalorian instructors who helped oversee the clone training. That was a little better. He could at least go through the material more at his own pace, and ask questions and have them answered properly. Sometimes a Kaminoan instructor would take over when his father was on hunts. Boba didn’t like that as much. The Kaminoan instructor barely had the patience to keep to the slower pace Boba preferred, and while they would answer questions, it was often with an air of impatience that was nearly as off-putting as being surrounded by fifty clones who just soaked up anything in their education programs like a horde of sea-sponges. Jango _had_ finally acquired a teaching droid to stand in for the Kaminoan when Boba was nine. That had worked for a while… until Boba got bored in between lessons a month or so ago and had disassembled the thing. He’d been meaning to put it back together- Jango had managed to find an instructional program for that- but then Kenobi had shown up and his whole world had tipped upside-down. 

Now Boba stood, balking in the doorway of a classroom in the Temple with Naroko standing behind him, eyeing the group of ten or so young sentients sitting at desks. He’d spent the last three days under the eye of an elderly jetii who resembled nothing more than a Mandalorian night-owl, running through a battery of tests designed to determine exactly where he was in his studies and where he should be ‘placed’ as a result. The jetiise, Naroko had explained, had several different ways of educating younglings, depending on their age and skill. When they arrived as infants or toddlers, they were placed in creches under the care and guidance of two or three adult jetiise and spent most of their time in mostly-educational play. She’d shown him one of the creches, and he recognized many of the same toys the littlest clones used. When they were about four or five, they moved from the creches into initiate clans, groups of about ten or so younglings who were again under the guidance of one or two adults and spent the next four years starting on what Boba recognized as real basic education- reading, writing, the beginnings of mathematics and science. Unlike the clones, the little jetiise also began studying history, some of the most common non-basic languages in the galaxy, and most bafflingly to Boba, art and music. He hadn’t really been aware those were things you _learned_. His father sang sometimes, and he’d seen a few of the cadets playing around making inexpert drawings on their tablets, and of course he knew how to apply paint to things, but… he hadn’t known you could actually study art and music.

After about five years of that, the initiates were tested, and placed in different classes based on their developing interests and aptitude alongside other youngsters on a similar level to them. Boba was surprised to learn that this continued even through the years they spent as a Padawan, though things changed a little after they were taken on by a Master. Padawans took classes with others when they and their mentor were at the Temple, then continued their studies independently when they went into the field, only to drop back into group classes when they returned. While in the field they also learned at their Master’s side, observing the duties and role of a jetii first-hand in real-world settings. And of course, throughout all of this they were studying the Force and how to use their own abilities. That was the stage Ayliah was at. Now they were all back at the Temple, she was splitting her time between studying with other Padawans her age and helping in the infirmary. Naroko had sought, and gotten, permission for Boba to join the initiate class rotation, then gotten him tested so they could figure out where he was in various subjects. 

Today was to be his first day of classes, and he was very, very nervous. He hadn’t been in a class since that awful year with the cadets, and his education had been… narrow… since then. How would he compare with jetii’kase who had been learning and studying together for- well, _years_? Even worse, the four humans in this class mostly seemed to be a year or two younger than he was. Surely they’d think he was stupid, or uneducated, or defficient-

Naroko rested a hand on his shoulder, and he felt a wave of calm wash over him, gently soothing some of the anxiety. It didn’t make all of his fear go away, just toned it down enough he could think and didn’t feel like he was about to panic. Ayliah explained to him that that was one of her teacher’s particular talents, sensing and projecting emotions. 

“She won’t change your feelings about something,” the Twi’lek had said, when he’d asked why Naroko never seemed to stop making him feel sad when he thought about his father. “You have a right to feel how you feel about something, and it would be unethical to, say, force quarreling parties to stop fighting by forcing them to feel something different about each other. But what she will do is tone down emotions. If you’re so scared or angry you can’t think, or so sad you feel like you’re drowning, she can put it at a little more of a distance, so you can think more clearly. Or she’ll project comfort, or fondness, or reassurance. That’s a little difference. That’s just part of how she communicates with people. It’s like making someone feel better by hugging them, except she’s hugging your heart instead of your body. She makes you feel how much she cares for you.”

She was doing that now, calming his fear enough that he could stand a little straighter and meet the too-curious gazes of the Initiates watching him without flinching away or wanting to hide. Naroko believed he could do this. And his father had taught him to be brave. He could do this. He could walk into this classroom and show these jetii’kase that he was just as smart as they were. 

“Knight Chiston, welcome. And this must be young Boba.” The voice, with its wind-instrument resonance, belonged to one of the strangest-looking sentients Boba had ever seen. It was bipedal, with a forward-slung body counterbalanced by a thick, flexible tail that ended in a two-pronged blade of sorts, muscled arms with three-fingered hands, an almost avian neck topped by a long-muzzled, head. Its scales were a brilliant emerald green but for the alternating diamonds of cobalt and ruby running down its spine from snout to tail tip. Whatever the creature was, it was clearly of a predatory species. That long muzzle was absolutely full of wickedly sharp teeth, those fingers each ended in an equally sharp claw, and its _feet_ … those feet ended in three toes each, two of which were equipped with strong talons and the innermost with a retractable, curving claw as long as Boba’s entire hand. A crest of webbing ran from its forehead down the length of its neck, and flexible frills jutted back from behind either side of its jaw. These were currently fanned out, rippling in shifting shades of bright green and yellow as the creature regarded them. The main things that kept the saurian alien from being terrifying was a certain glint of good humor in its emerald eyes and the shockingly pink caps it wore tipping each talon and its bladed tail. It chuffed softly, bobbing its head. To Boba’s surprise, Naroko mimicked the sound as she bowed to it.

“Knight Corixxel, hello. Yes, this is Boba.” She gave Boba’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Boba, this is Jedi Knight Corrixel. He’s teaching a unit on galactic history at the moment.”

“Indeed, and pleased I am to have you with us, Boba.” Corrixel bobbed his head with enthusiasm, the yellow ripples in his frills brightening until it all but drowned out the green. “Knight Chiston, he will be in good hands here. You may leave him with us.”

Naroko knelt and hugged him tight, petting his hair. “Corrixel will direct you to the next classroom when it’s time,” she said. “You will have the first lunch session. If you have questions or difficulties, ask Corrixel, or one of the other students if you aren’t interrupting instruction.” She drew back, smiling a little as she cupped her hands around his cheeks. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll see you at dinnertime.” 

He looked up at her anxiously- he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to be left with a whole group of strangers. At the same time, he really didn’t want to look scared or weak in front of a bunch of little jetiise. So even though he wanted to protest, to grab for her sleeve and keep her from leaving, he made himself stand there and nod.

She rested her forehead against his- a gesture so like that his father would give him before he had to leave on a hunt that he almost wanted to cry- then stood, gave him a soft smile, and slipped out. He swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and turned to face the classroom. Ten sets of eyes were fixed on him as he slowly walked to a seat, and remained on him until Corrixel trilled to get their attention.

“This is Boba Fett,” he said, clicking one of his wickedly curved foot-claws on the floor for emphasis. “He is being fostered by Knight Chiston for the time being. She has asked for him to join the Initiate classes. Please make him feel welcome.”

“Fett?” one of the humans asked, a boy with startlingly blue eyes and sleek blond hair. “Like the clones?”

The gossip vine at the Temple must be even better than the one on Kamino, if they’d already picked up on that detail. Boba felt his face flush, and he fought the urge to sink down in his chair as he nodded. The blond boy smirked and sat back as Corrixel clicked his talons again to call them to order. “Boba, I will have a reading assignment for you for tonight. For today, please observe, and ask questions if you have them.”

He nodded, a sense of relief trickling through him. At least Corrixel didn’t seem interested in calling on him to answer questions. That was something, even if it was only a temporary reprieve. He was certain that he would be expected to answer questions next session. For now he could slump down in his chair and listen as the saurian alien began the lesson. They seemed to be going over the founding of the Galactic Republic, a subject which Boba knew little and cared about even less.

Corrixel seemed to be focusing on the jetiise involvement in the founding, and periodically he would pause in his lecture and either fire off a question at one initiate in particular or pose one to the group as a whole. As he watched, it slowly dawned on him that the structure of this lesson was vastly different than those the cadets sat through on Kamino. Corrixel didn’t seem to be concerned with exactly precise answers for the most part, unless he was asking for a specific date, and he rarely requested those. Instead, his focus was more on _whys_. Why someone did this, why this group advocated for that, why someone else believed a third thing. He made a point of weaving in cultural backgrounds, economic influences, the effects of this or that technology, the impact of this corporation or religion. He invited discussion- one one initiate suggested one reason for an event and a second student insisted on another, Corrixel did his best to prove how both factors may have impacted the event in question. And he invited speculation, encouraging them all to think, and discuss ideas. And any time a student raised an appendage, he showed no frustration at having to pause to answer the question entirely, even if it sent the group wandering down a different path of discussion. It was multilayered, complex, interwoven, all of it painting a picture of a time long ago so vivid that at least some of the figures they discussed almost seemed to come to life. 

Boba sat there, not even noticing his mouth was hanging open as he listened to the discussion. This was _nothing_ like what the clones learned, and nothing like _how_ they learned. He was entranced enough he almost forgot to worry about how he was ever supposed to catch up and make all these connections the group were forging and drawing together. By the time that class was finished, his head was _spinning_. The initiates filed out as Corrixel came over to his desk and passed him a datacard. “We are currently on chapter eight,” he said. “If you can, try and read through that point by the end of the week. Knight Chiston can find me if you have questions.” He chuffed softly and dipped his head, tilting it to peer at him out of one emerald eye. “How are you doing, youngling?”

He blinked, momentarily perturbed at the sight of those teeth so near his face, then slowly shrugged. “Not sure?” he admitted. “That’- you were all talking about a lot I don’t know about, but- it was interesting to listen to. I’ve never studied history before. Like a lot of stories all together.”

That earned him another chuff, and a flash of magenta ripples flowing across Corrixel’s frills. “That is what history is,” he said kindly. “Stories, lived by people, influenced by more lives and thoughts and beliefs and mistakes and lucky guesses than you can count. You will catch up as we go. This class is meant to give our younglings a general overview of our history. No one can learn every detail of the entire history of the Republic, for it is so very large, but it is good to have a general idea. It is my hope that this class will not just teach history, but how to _engage_ with history. How to think about learning history, how to approach analyzing events that happened long ago, and what you must do to fill in the blanks. Even the most thorough history text will, by necessity, leave things out, and many are written with a slant in mind- an idea that the writer wants you to come away with. Omissions may be innocent- the writer may not have known of a particular influence or underlying cause- or they may be more malicious, as when one side deliberately presents a story designed to slander those they view as rivals or enemies. What you must learn to do, when studying history, is to build a picture of the time and place you are studying, then identify why a writer wrote thus-and-such, then find sources to fill in the blanks and flaws in your understanding. That is more important than learning dates and names, youngling, and will serve you far better.” 

Boba was dazed as he walked out of that classroom and made his way to the next. He would really have liked to have gone and sat in a quiet spot to think about all that for a while, but the schedule Naroko had given him said that his next class was soon. He managed to find the right room and found a seat near the back. A couple of the younglings from the history class were there- the blue-eyed blond boy, a human girl with silver eyes and coloration as pale and colorless as a Kaminoan who gave him a friendly smile, and a third human, a boy with the same gold-tinted skin, straight black hair, and slanted black eyes as Naroko- while the others were all new to him. The blond boy smirked and elbowed a Twi’lek sitting next to them, pointing in Boba’s direction. He flushed and looked down, clenching his fists under his desk.

With that look on his face, the blond boy clearly didn’t mean him well. 

This class turned out to be one in mathematics, something Boba actually knew something about. He actually had a fair idea of what they were covering, enough that he could venture a question or two and didn’t regard their practice assignment with dread. The jetii teaching this class ran them through a brief lecture, then set them to solving a series of practice equations singly or in pairs while she prowled the room, pausing at each desk to ascertain how the initiate was faring. When she arrived at Boba’s desk, she looked over the equations he’d solved so far and frowned slightly. “You do not show your work,” she observed, her tone so neutral that he wasn’t sure if she disapproved or not.

He looked up at her. “Am- I supposed to?” he asked uncertainly.

“It is better that you do,” she said. “Five of these equations you have solved correctly, but this-” She tapped on the equation before the one he was currently working on, “Is incorrect. It is difficult for an instructor or tutor to figure out how you arrived at an incorrect answer, or ascertain if you followed the steps properly, if you do not show the work.”

He blinked and peered at the equation she indicated. Now he was looking at it again, he could see she was correct- he’d arrived at the wrong solution, and he even knew exactly where he’d gone wrong in his calculations. “Oh. But- it’s slower that way.”

The jetii- Ardyn Wintersong, he remembered- raised an eyebrow at him, and Boba heard a couple of snickers. He refused to look towards the source, already guessing who the likely culprit was. “For our purposes, speed is of less concern than accurately following the steps to solve the equation-” she began, but he was already reworking the problem, stylus darting across the screen. She went quiet and simply watched. A few minutes later he had the equation fully written out and solved correctly, step by step, and looked up at her with a raised eyebrow of his own. 

“You have already covered this?” she finally asked.

“Dad was teaching me astronavigation before he- died,” he said quietly. “These equations are part of the formula for determining a ship’s fuel consumption during flight.” He’d actually enjoyed the mathematics courses that his father had downloaded for him and gotten fairly far along in them before Jango had even gotten to start properly teaching him astronavigation. But his mathematics studies had been a bit more patchwork than the courses the jetii’kase got, which meant he’d been missing rather large chunks of what they had already covered, so his placement tests had put him with this class.

Wintersong regarded him. “I see,” she said, nodding. “Kindly continue with the lesson and take the time to show your work. I’ll have a different homework assignment for you tonight so I have a better idea of where you actually are, rather than what I will set for the others.”

He made a face. More placement tests. Wonderful. But at least she seemed a little impressed that he knew what he was doing. That was something, right?

She moved on to the next student, and the silver-eyed girl leaned over and poked him. “You really understand this stuff?” she asked. He was about to retort, thinking she was questioning him, when he looked again and realized that her expression was hopeful, not critical. Not just hopeful, but almost pleading, actually. Slowly, he nodded. “Can you help me? I just- can’t seem to get these steps in the right order.”

He actually stopped and stared at her for a moment. Was this a trick? Certainly the blond boy and his companion had seemed happy when Wintersong had pointed out his error. Was she trying to lure him into doing something wrong?

Somehow he didn’t think so. There was no room for guile in those wide silver eyes.

At last he nodded. She thanked him eagerly and scooted over to show him her tablet. He looked at her efforts in dismay. She had somehow managed to completely fumble her order of operations to start with, and that just seemed to be the first of her problems. 

He wiped the page so they could start again, and carefully walked her through the steps they were supposed to follow. She listened intently as he explained, and he could watch comprehension begin to dawn on her face. “Oh!” she said at last as he calculated the final result. “That makes more sense! You explain that so much better than Knight Wintersong!”

He smiled shyly and ducked his head. “Thank you,” he said. 

“What’s a clone need with math anyway?” he heard a voice ask. Boba whipped around sharply, glaring at the blond boy. He was seemingly talking to his friend, but his voice was loud enough to carry clear across the room. “Aren’t they just supposed to shoot things?”

“Shoot things and follow orders,” his friend replied. The Twi’lek’s skin rippled, passing briefly through a vaguely reptilian form before becoming a Bothan. _Clawdite_ , Boba realized. He was familiar with the species- one of his father’s frequent hunting partners had been a Clawdite female named Zam Wessell. He’d liked her a lot, though he hadn’t seen her since she and his father had left on that last hunt before Kenobi arrived on Kamino. “I’ve heard the Masters talking about them. That’s all they need to do. Not sure why you’d bother teaching them anything else.” 

Boba made to rise, but the silver-eyed girl grabbed his sleeve. “Boba, don’t!” she hissed.He glared at her and yanked out of her grip. Knight Wintersong was nowhere in sight- he vaguely recalled her mentioning she was stepping out for a moment. Naturally, the moment an adult was out of sight, the blond boy started something. He glared vemonously across the room at the Initiate, who made a great show of ignoring him as he continued to address his companion. “You’re right. It’d just be a waste of time.”

“Bet his dad didn’t actually teach him astronavigation calculations,” the Bothan-shaped Clawdite added, smirking. The ‘conversation’ was drawing the attention of the other initiates. “Bet he just read ahead in some osmotic learning curriculum.” 

“Of course,” the boy replied loftily. “He’s a clone. He doesn’t have a dad.”

The silver-eyed girl didn’t even have a chance to grab for him before Boba was out of range, yelling in fury as he tackled the blond boy. His target yelped in surprise as they both went tumbling to the floor amid a crash of knocked-over stools. “You take that back!” he snarled. He didn’t care that the boy was taller than he was, or a jetii. He yelped when punched in the face all the same. 

An invisible force shoved him off the boy. _Jetii trick_ , he thought angrily, rolling to his feet.

Before the blond boy could even sit up, Boba was on him again, punching and clawing and shouting furious curses in Basic and Mando’a. He heard cries of alarm from behind him and ignored them. The Clawdite briefly tried to yank him off his victim. Boba jammed an elbow back. He hit something soft, and the Bothan yelped and rolled off him, only to be dragged back by two of the other initiates. He didn’t care, all his attention focused on venting his grief and pain and resentment out on this _di’kut_ who had insulted him and his father. 

“Enough!”

For a second time, an invisible force hauled him off the boy he was pummeling. This wasn’t a frantic half-trained telekinetic shove, however. Boba was picked up around the middle in an unseen fist and pulled away, turned around in midair, and deposited in front of Knight Wintersong. The woman had one hand planted on her hip, the other outstretched in the same open-handed gesture he’d seen Naroko and Ayliah use to make objects float. She flicked her fingers, and the invisible grip on Boba vanished. He stumbled a little, then straightened, glaring at her, hating the jetiise and their Force tricks with every fiber of his being at that moment. “Stay there,” she ordered, then strode past him and knelt by the blond boy.

Boba stayed, fuming. He could see the boy quite clearly from where Wintersong had set him. The boy’s nose and lip were both bleeding profusely, and one eye was already starting to blacken as he sobbed. Wintersong helped him to sit up, passing him a square of cloth to hold to his bloody nose.

“What. Happened,” she demanded, her gaze going from the boy to Boba, then sweeping around the room of stunned initiates. She finally settled on one to question. “Drakora?”

The silver-eyed girl gulped and looked anxiously at Boba. “I asked Boba to help me with the assignment,” she began, her voice very quiet.

“Speak up, Drakora, if you please.”

She gulped again and nodded. “Boba was helping me with the assignment,” she repeated. Her voice was a little louder this time. “And Gaen and Zost were talking… they said something about clones not needing math, since they’re just-” She trailed off there, plainly embarrassed at having to repeat the words.

“Since they’re just…?” Wintersong said, implacable.

“Since… they’re just grown to fight…” That was another of the initiates, a lavender-marked Zabrak. He looked deeply ashamed as he spoke, and refused to look at Boba. Boba simply glared at him briefly before fixing his gaze back on the well-bloodied Gaen. “And then Gaen said… Boba didn’t have a father, because he’s a clone, and…”

“And then Boba started pummeling him,” Drakora finished. 

“I see.” Knight Wintersong frowned, getting to her feet and looking around at all of them. “I see several problems here,” she said. There was disapproval in every syllable as she met each initiate’s gaze. “Firstly, this disparaging attitude the clones.” She looked down at Gaen and the very sheepish Zost, who had shed his Bothan shape and stood there in his own skin, staring at the floor. “Second, this deliberate effort to insult one joining you as a guest. This is utterly _unbefitting_ potential Jedi. Jedi are supposed to have _compassion_ for all living things. And _thirdly_ , how at least some of you stood aside and did not speak out against this behavior. Jedi are supposed to be honorable. To defend those with no voice or ability to advocate for themselves. To speak out against bullying, not be bullies ourselves. _That_ obligation does not begin at your Knighting. _How_ can you expect yourselves to stand against such behavior when you are Knights if you let it slide as Initiates? At what point in your lives do you expect to say ‘Oh, I am supposed to protect the weak, defenseless, or marginalized starting _today_ , when _yesterday_ it was alright if I let it happen’?”

There was some flinching, some uneasy shuffling of feet, among the initiates. For his part, Boba only stared, unable to believe what he was hearing. He supposed it was fair to expect Wintersong to take Gaen and Zost to task- they were the ones who had started making comments in the first place. He certainly expected her to take him to task. He was the one with the knuckles bleeding from the thrashing he’d delivered to the stupid _di’kut_ , after all. But she was dressing down the entire class for not speaking out against what they’d been saying, and he was having trouble wrapping his brain around that idea. 

He was still processing this notion when Naroko came to collect him. Knight Wintersong had sent Gaen to the infirmary to get cleaned up and then delivered the lecture about fighting he’d expected, but he only listened to it with half an ear. It wasn’t much he hadn’t been able to guess she’d say, after all. Violence wasn’t supposed to be used in the Temple, this was a place of peace, he needed to learn better ways to solve his problems, blah, blah, blah. Nothing he really wanted to listen to. After all, he wasn’t a jetii. 

Naroko brought him back to their rooms without a word, sat him on a chair, and cleaned off his sore knuckles, then dabbed ointment on them. She seemed a little distracted as she worked. Not really looking forward to a lecture from her, Boba kept silent. He didn’t even twitch when the ointment she smeared on his split knuckles stung in the torn skin. Finally she sat back and regarded him.

“I admit,” she said slowly. “I don’t really know what to say.”

He blinked at her. “You’re… not going to lecture me about fighting?” he asked warily. 

“I don’t think so,” she admitted. “This is… a complicated matter.” She petted his hair back, and some of the wariness drained from him. “Your people aren’t shy about fighting to settle disputes or standing up for what they believe, and the willingness to do that isn’t a bad thing. It’s good you can recognize unfairness and cruelty and will try to defend yourself from it.”

“But…?” He knew there was a ‘but’ coming. It was obvious.

She smiled ruefully. “Well, I’m not supposed to officially sanction fighting as a way to settle a problem,” she said. “On the other hand, what Gaen said was dreadfully insulting and I rather sympathize. I probably would have hit him too at your age. ObiWan certainly would have.”

He started to smile, then blinked as she tapped his nose. “No, don’t go feeling smug, mister,” she chided. “Like I said, I’m not supposed to officially sanction throwing punches, no matter how much he may or may not have deserved it.”

“I will if you won’t, Master,” Ayliah called as she came in, slinging the bag with her class things in it onto the couch and coming over to hug Boba. She actually scooped him up, grinning as she nuzzled his cheek. “You showed him not to run his mouth, didn’t you, Bob’ika?”

“Ayliah!” Naroko cried. 

She grinned at her mentor. “You know what that boy said,” she told her. “Besides, if he can’t wrap his head around the clones being people he’s going to have a bad time of it if he gets taken as a Padawan before the war’s over. And so are the clones who have to work with him. Better he gets stupid ideas knocked out of his head now rather than later.”

Naroko looked at them both in exasperation, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Still, he could have hurt Gaen badly-”

“Which he brought on himself,” Ayliah retorted. 

“Regardless.” She looked pointedly at Boba. “I know you’re Mandalorian, dear one,” she said. “We respect that, and we do expect you to stand up in defense of that. But- likewise, the children here are being raised as Jedi, and don’t see violence as a valid answer to conflict resolution. You would do well to respect that, and at least _try_ to talk things over first.”

He sighed, and leaned against Ayliah. “I guess I can _try_ ,” he grumbled. 

“And if talking doesn’t work, then you can punch them,” Ayliah said cheerfully. 

Naroko rose, walked over to the nearest wall, and quietly thumped her head against it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Jetii'kase - Jedi Initiates, from jetii, Jedi, and 'ika, a diminuative meaning 'little'. Singular jetii'ka  
> Di'kut- idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)
> 
> Again, thanks to the Geyi'kaab Discord server for help with the Mando'a, and a shoutout to DiaryofaWriter for helping with plot ideas and shadowmaat for some helpful notions regarding an accidentally species-changing side character...


	5. To Kamino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some awakenings are pretty rude. 
> 
> Also, the family is getting bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy May the Fourth!

Tookas, Boba had discovered, loved laser pointers. 

He aimed the little red dot, sending it dancing across the floor. The cream-and-brown-striped tooka kit who had decided to make their quarters its own territory scrambled after it, mewing eagerly. He giggled and flicked the dot away. The tooka ran in pursuit. It narrowly avoided Naroko’s legs as the door slid open. She quickly halted her forward progress, rising up a little on her toes before settling again as the kit scolded her for getting in its way. Smiling weakly, she knelt and scooped it up. A few gentle strokes soon had the kit’s wrath appeased, and it settled down in the crook of her arm to purr.

She held a datapad in her hand. Boba frowned, looking from it to her strained expression. Worry curled in in his stomach. Had the Council changed their minds? Were they making Naroko send him away? He knew she would do her best to put him somewhere he’d be happy, but he didn’t want to go. Naroko and Ayliah were nice. He missed his father so much it hurt, but they had been doing everything in their power to give him a real _home_. Ayliah had declared several times that he was her little brother now, and while he’d pretended to roll his eyes and brush it off, he’d secretly been very pleased. Ayliah was a good sister. Even Kenobi and Anakin weren’t too bad. Anakin had been happy to help him with his model kits and showed him around the hangars and maintenance bays below the Temple, introducing him to the feline master of that particular domain, Cloud-in-Mountain-Valley, and even showing him the starfighter he’d been working on. Kenobi was kind, and spoke Mando’a with him whenever he came by, and had even given him a little plush figure of a Mandalorian warrior in blue and silver armor he’d had made for Boba special. 

He set his jaw stubbornly. He wasn’t going _anywhere_. The stupid Council couldn’t make him leave. He wouldn’t go. These people were his family now. His clan. The Council could take their stupid order and shove it up their-

“Ayliah?” Naroko called. 

The Twi’lek immediately poked her head out of her room, lekku dangling over her shoulders. “Master?” She frowned at the look on her mentor’s face, and stepped out. “What’s wrong?”

Naroko took a deep breath and passed her the datapad, looking between them both. “We have our orders,” she said.

Ayliah’s face paled, going from scarlet to a pasty pinkish shade. “What are they?” There was serious worry in her tone as she looked at her beloved teacher. “Master- they can’t- they can’t be sending you to-”

“No, I won’t be leading troops into battle,” she said, shaking her head. Ayliah immediately relaxed a little in relief. “We’re being given command of the 64th Kirin Corps. It’s a support unit- medical personnel, evac units, search and rescue, some scouts and recon, and guards for the lot of them.”

Ayliah blinked. “Oh,” she said. “So- a field hospital unit.” 

“For the most part, yes.” Naroko nodded, cuddling the tooka kit. “The only ones who will be on the front lines during the fighting will be the evac and rescue teams. The recon and scout teams will be at the fringes and generally out of the worst of the fighting. The guard troops are to cover our people if we have to evacuate. It’s a large group, though- not quite 37,000 people.”

“All clones?” Ayliah asked with a frown. 

“Only about a quarter of the medical staff will be clones,” she said. “Most clone medics are attached to combat units. We’re being given a lot who are just finished training and haven’t actually worked in the field yet. The impression I got is that we’ll be getting more of those- clone medics who will serve a few months in one of our infirmaries before being sent on to join other units. The medical staff who aren’t clones or med-droids will be natural-born recruits.”

Ayliah made a face, but nodded. Boba had learned that while Naroko’s training in trauma healing meant she would be a first pick for a position like this, Ayliah’s talents lay more in the field of psychiatric medicine- healing the mind and brain, more than the body. She’d probably be better suited for a position even further behind the lines than her Master was. But until she was Knighted, where Naroko went, Ayliah would go.

_Not that they could pry her away from Naroko’s side,_ he thought grimly. He could tell just by looking at her that you’d have to use a crowbar to separate Ayliah from her Master. Well, that was all to the good, as far as he was concerned. According to both Ayliah and Kenobi, Naroko was inclined to push herself past her limits. 

“What about Boba?” Ayliah glanced over at him, worried.

Naroko set the tooka down and came over, kneeling so she could hug Boba close. “There’s really only three options,” she said quietly. “Boba, we could still send you to a Mandalorian family-”

“No,” he said, glaring. 

“Or you could stay here with one of the Initiate clans-”

He gave her a look of exasperation. Sure, most of the initiates he had classes with were coming around to the idea of a non-jetii child among them, but there were still several who looked at him with scorn. Zost the Clawdite _had_ apologized, but that blond boy, Gaen, he was still making snide comments when he thought no one was going to take him to task for them, as were one or two others. At least no one had been outright _insulting_ , so he hadn’t had to blacken any more eyes. But he was absolutely not going to stay here while Naroko and Ayliah went out to a battlefield where they could get hurt! “I’m going with you,” he said flatly. “You need me to look after you. Both of you! You forget to eat, and someone has to make sure you sleep, and Ayliah’s going to be busy with her own patients, and-”

Ayliah doubled over, laughing so hard Boba thought she might topple over. Naroko looked rather chagrined as Boba continued listing every reason he could think of for _why_ they should take him with them, scrambling for more and more ideas, until finally he proclaimed, “And we’re _family_ now, so there!” and glared at her.

Finally she laughed, and cuddled him close. He burrowed against her, grumbling under his breath. “Alright, dear one,” she said softly. “If you insist-”

“I do!”

She petted his hair, and he felt calm wash over him, and in its wake came affection and warmth. He sighed and let it soak in. “You can come with us,” she said. “I don’t like the idea of taking a child out into a war, but-”

“You said yourself, we won’t be on the front lines,” Ayliah pointed out. “We’re a support unit. And medical facilities are supposed to be non-combat zones. So he should be pretty safe with us there.”

Naroko nodded, then pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’re right. I’m still not thrilled, but- it’s the best solution we have. You two go and pack what you’ll need for an extended leave of absence from the Temple. We leave for Kamino in the morning.” She smiled crookedly. “Master Yoda said I’m to pick out a squad who will work with us directly.

Ayliah raised a brow. “He’s letting you pick?” she asked. “But- I don’t recall any of the others saying anything about picking out a personal unit.”

“I got the impression that he wants to be very sure that I get a unit I can get along with,” she said dryly. “So I won’t go raising up a fuss about _that_ too.”

Boba ducked his head, hiding a smirk. He knew that Naroko had had a few pointed conversations with the little green jetii that had left both of them rather irked- and that he’d been the subject of them. So, Yoda was extending her a favor, was he? He must really want her in a more cooperative frame of mind…

His two jetiise spent the trip to Kamino mostly reading over personnel files, trying to get a sense for their new troops and get an idea of what squad to recruit. They questioned him carefully about how the clones thought, how they were trained, about which ones he knew personally. He wished he could have given them more information. He hadn’t had all that much contact with the clones. The really young ones he’d spent time with all had very similar personalities, and were initially quite… passive, most of their energy going towards absorbing their training and growing up at double-speed. It wasn’t until they were four or five years old that most of them really started showing personalities and you could tell some of them apart. He supposed that they could notice subtle differences among themselves younger than that, but he hadn’t been able to. The ‘older’ ones- the ones who were closer to his own age but far more mature than he was- still tended to be focused on their training, but had at least made friendly overtures to him now and again if he happened to wander among them. 

It was strange. He had, genetically speaking, hundreds of thousands of brothers, but he didn’t really know any of them. 

He told them this, looking at them apologetically. Fortunately they didn’t seem upset by this admission. They hugged him, and told him that it was alright, they’d meet the clones soon enough and get to know them then. A few units had already come to the Temple, either being assigned as additional guards or meeting with their assigned jetii Generals. When Kenobi had gone to meet the commander he’d been assigned, Boba had tagged along, wanting to ensure Kenobi got a good one. Kenobi was, after all, Naroko’s friend, and none of the jetiise had much in the way of command experience. He ought to have a good commander to keep him out of trouble. So there. 

That had gone well, at least. CC-2224 had introduced himself and given Kenobi his name- Cody. There had been a hint of resignation in the clone’s voice when he’d given it, which had made Kenobi pause and look at him intently.

“Cody,” he said carefully, “Or- Kote?”

The clone commander had started at that, staring at Kenobi in surprise. The name was Mando’a, and meant ‘glory’, but most Basic speakers wouldn’t so crisply define the sounds. “Ah- yes sir,” he’d replied. “Most of the others weren’t pronouncing it right, so I just…” He shrugged. 

Kenobi had smiled. “I understand. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander Kote. I’m ObiWan Kenobi. Now, since I’ve never in my life commanded any unit on this scale, I’d appreciate it if you showed me what in the name of the Force I’m supposed to be doing with all of you…”

Boba had crept off shortly after, pleased that one of the jetiise in his little group was in good hands. Now he just had to make sure _his_ particular jetiise had similarly qualified partners to work with. 

It was raining on Kamino when they arrived. It was almost always raining on Kamino, and Boba had come prepared to make the dash from their transport to the doorway gave entrance to Tipoca City proper. He’d bundled up in a waterproofed poncho, pulled a fold of it up over his head, donned his slip-proof boots, and braced himself to run the moment the ramp was down. As a result, he was mostly dry when he skidded to a halt inside the blindingly white corridor and needed only to shake out his poncho a little.

Naroko and Ayliah were not so lucky. Their robes didn’t shed water as well as his poncho, and the trailing hems were soaked halfway to their knees by the time they had joined him. An errant gust of wind had blown Ayliah’s loose hood back, and water trickled over her eyes and down her lekku. With a look of disgust, she mopped her face with her sleeve.

“Quite the weather you have here, dear one,” Naroko said with wry amusement as she wrung out the hem of her robe.

He grinned at them. “You learn real fast to be prepared for a lot of rain on Kamino,” he said. “It rains about eight months out of ten on this part of the planet.”

“And it’s _cold_ ,” Ayliah grumbled. 

“Yep.”

Naroko smiled and smoothed her robe just as one of the tall, ethereally-delicate Kaminoans approached, regarding the trio with starfield eyes. “Ah, I see our guide has arrived.” She gave the Kaminoan a polite bow. 

The Kaminoan inclined its head on its long neck. “Master Jedi,” he said gravely. “Welcome to Kamino. I am Lun Xi. I am given to understand you are here to select a personal squad..” He paused, tilting his head to regard Boba. “Cadet, you are out of uniform. You must return to your unit at once.”

Boba bristled at that. “I’m not-” he began.

Naroko laid a hand on his right shoulder, even as Ayliah moved up to flank him on his left. He glared at Lun Xi. “This is Boba Fett,” Naroko said calmly. “My apprentice and I have been fostering him since his father died.”

Lun Xi blinked slowly, and Boba read some disapproval in his gaze before he inclined his head once more. “That is very good of you,” he said. “A terrible shame about Fett. It would have been good to still have him on hand as we continue production, but we have enough of his genetic code on file to fulfill our contract with the Republic.” He didn’t seem to notice the jetiise’s uncomfortable expressions as he turned and gracefully paced off down the hall. “I am certain you would like to examine some units for yourself, Master Jedi. This way, please.”

They had to hurry a little to catch up, Boba still quietly fuming. He hated it when people talked about his dad like that. 

“It’s a good thing you have me along,” he muttered in Mando’a. None of the Kaminoans had ever bothered learning the language that he’d heard of, so it was a good language in which to voice his annoyance. “Otherwise they might not give you the best.”

Naroko was still awkward with Mando’a, but Ayliah had taken to it pretty quickly. The Twi’lek grinned down at him and ruffled his hair. “You’ll help us pick out someone good, vod’ika,” she said cheerfully. “We trust you.”

He actually managed to smile at that, and straightened his shoulders. It was nice to be trusted. He wouldn’t let them down.

Lun Xi led them through the blindingly white halls, carefully questioning Naroko on what sort of unit she was looking for. She explained they were going to be a support unit, and while she would probably be doing some work on the lines, she wasn’t looking for the sort of elite unit who would be better paired with a Jedi who would actively be leading troops into battle. 

“We’ll need a pilot,” she told Lun Xi. They had discussed what they were most likely to need during the flight to Kamino. “And certainly someone talented with logistics. A medic would be ideal- I will always prefer a set of trained hands to assist over an untrained pair. And someone with some skill at mechanical repair and gauging the state of, say, a crashed ship.”

“It would be pretty helpful to know if the crashed fighter we’re hauling a pilot out of is about to explode,” Ayliah observed. Boba could think of plenty other reasons why someone good with machines would be handy too. 

The Kaminoan considered these parameters. “We have a handful of units with such a composition,” he said slowly. “That is, if you wish an already-established squad that is used to working with one another.”

“That would be ideal,” Naroko told him.

“But such a composition was meant to be for Jedi leading small units. Specialty groups, you see. And few individual squads have their own medics…”

“Ah. And so they would be given to those Jedi first.”

Lun Xi nodded. They had drawn up beside a long row of windows that looked into one of the large training simulator rooms, and Boba immediately went to press his nose against the transparisteel to watch the exercise taking place within. There was a squad of five clones at work there, moving quite smoothly. They were all wearing white armor, with only temporary identifying stripes taped to their paudrons. The sole exception was the modified cross symbol on the paudron of one of the cadets who was hanging back behind a vod wielding a heavy repeater blaster with a great deal of enthusiasm. That, he knew, meant the marked cadet was one of those rare medics assigned to a small group like this.

Ayliah joined him to see what he was watching. “What about this squad?” she asked. “There’s a medic with them. How close are they to completing their training?”

“Ah.” There was a definite tone of disapproval in Lun Xi’s voice as he checked a computer terminal standing in front of the windows. “I am afraid Distaff Squad is… unlikely to be cleared for field work. They are a flawed batch. Jedi Master Shaak Ti has already insisted that such flawed batches are not to be terminated as they normally would, so they will most likely be assigned to Maintenance, or to guard a supply depot.”

Boba watched both his jetiise go absolutely still as those words sank in. Naroko went cold, her expression almost perfectly composed except for the anger flashing in her black eyes. Ayliah, on the other hand, went hot, clenching her fists. “Terminated?” she asked, actually shaking a little with anger. She moved to take a step towards Lun Xi, only to be stopped when Naroko’s hand darted out to grip her shoulder and hold her back. “You _kill_ flawed clones?”

Lun Xi blinked at her. “Our contract and our reputation demand we only provide the best clone soldiers for the Republic,” he said calmly. “To deliver flawed products is damaging to our reputation, and a failure to provide the finest clones possible cannot be tolerated. One cannot send flawed weapons into the field, for they will fail and risk the lives of those depending on them.”

“These are _people_!” Ayliah snarled, so palpably furious that Lun Xi took a step back. Boba didn’t blame him. He felt Ayliah’s anger rolling off her like waves of heat. “ _Not_ droids, not blaster rifles, not weapons!”

“They were made to serve one purpose,” Lun Xi replied. “They are products, just as any other.”

Both Naroko and Boba grabbed Ayliah’s arms as she made to lunge at the Kaminoan. “Padawan!” Naroko said sharply. Ayliah whipped her head around to glare at her in turn.

“Master, you heard what he-”

“And this is not how we respond to such,” she said, implacable. 

The two jetiise stared at one another. Boba could only guess that they were doing that thing they did, talking to one another in their minds. It was weird, to his view, but it was at least useful, like a private comm channel that couldn’t be overheard and couldn’t be hacked into. He did wish he could hear what they were saying, though.

Finally, Ayliah yanked free of their holds, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at Lun Xi. The Kaminoan had remained where he was, only briefly perturbed by her outburst. Seeming content she would hold her tongue, he turned his attention back to her Master. “We should move along, Master Jedi,” he said, his tone distinctly cooler than it had been a moment ago. “There are other units you will wish to see.”

“I don’t think so.”

Lun Xi sighed, briefly. Apparently he was coming to the end of his patience where these two jetiise were concerned. “Master Jedi,” he began. “You said yourself you will need a squad-”

“And I do.” Naroko raised her chin a little, jerking it towards the window overlooking the ‘defective’ squad’s training room. “I’m taking them.”

He started with surprise. “You cannot be serious,” he said. “Master Jedi, these units are defective. They will not perform up to par-”

“I will be the judge of that. I’m taking them as my unit. Thank you, Lun Xi.” She dug in her pocket and handed him a datachip. “If you would be so kind as to make the transfer official?”

“They have not finished their final evaluations!” he protested. 

“And they are due to take them when, exactly?”

The Kaminoan drooped a little. “In the morning,” he said, reluctant.

Naroko nodded. “Then I will take them then.”

“That is, of course, assuming they pass their evaluation scenario.”

Her lips tightened, forming an almost flat line. Finally, she nodded. “Assuming they pass,” she relented, apparently deciding even she couldn’t get away with taking a unit who hadn’t been certified as ready. 

Lun Xi nodded. Without another word he turned and- well, Kaminoans couldn’t exactly stalk, no matter how annoyed they were, but his normally almost weightless stride was rather stiffer than usual as he left them.

Boba stared up at his two jetiise. “You got mad,” he said, a little awed. “I thought jetiise weren’t supposed to get mad.”

“We- aren’t supposed to let anger control us or dictate our actions,” Naroko said, with a pointed look at her apprentice. Ayliah glared back at her. “But- anger is not always a bad thing. Anger can be used for good causes, if you can control it.”

He frowned. He’d listened to the lectures the jetiise gave their students, about how they were supposed to let go of their anger and be at peace with the Force and their actions. It had all sounded stupid to him, but he’d reluctantly chalked it up to one of those crazy jetiise things that just made no sense to anyone not raised with them from early childhood. “The jetiise at the Temple were always going on about anger and the Dark Side,” he said, puzzled.

“Yes, they do.” Naroko rested a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. “It’s- complicated. Boba- you know what it means to be fair, right?”

He blinked, then slowly nodded. “Yeah…?”

“Well, when you see something that _isn’t_ fair, when you see something that is just _wrong_ , like-”

“Like killing clones just because they have some kind of defect,” Ayliah growled.

“Like that, or see a group of people in power use their influence to get laws passed that let them restrict resources from the poor, or use them cruelly, or things of that sort- you are supposed to get angry. And then you are supposed to _do_ something about it, if you are in a position to. Anger, when you have the kind of heart that cares for others, can tell you when injustices are being done and is supposed to move you to do something about it. The kinds of anger that the Jedi really _mean_ when they say that anger leads to the Dark Side is- selfish. It’s anger that speaks to you and says to hurt others because you’ve been hurt. If you listen to that kind of anger, you can… go further than you might mean, and hurt people because of it. Or you can let it goad you into doing things that serve only yourself, or let it fester in you until it warps you into someone you don’t truly want to be.” She knelt, and cupped her hands over his cheeks. “You spend a lot of time being angry, Boba. Why?”

He considered this. He didn’t usually question why he got angry. He just- did. He shrugged, helplessly. “I dunno.”

She laughed softly and kissed his forehead. He had no idea what he’d said that was apparently so funny. 

“Alright. Think about what Gaen said that made you so angry.”

“He- insulted me,” he said slowly. “He pretty much said I was no good, like- like being a clone was… bad? And he said I had no family.”

“That’s right. What he was saying was wrong, and insulting, and showed you what he and others might think. And- that kind of thinking is dangerous. People can use it, use the idea of ‘oh, it doesn’t matter what happens to them, they’re _just clones_ ’ to excuse all sorts of terrible things. They can use it to say, ‘Oh, they don’t need to be taken care of, they’re _just clones_.’ They can use it to say ‘Oh, we don’t have to treat them like _people_ , they’re _just clones_.’ And that’s _wrong_. Because when you think a group of people isn’t people, when you think they’re beneath you, it’s very, very easy to justify doing bad things to them.”

Boba thought that over. He- hadn’t really considered that before. Oh, he’d known that clones were terminated for having problems, for not coming up to the mark. He remembered his father coming home once when he was young, after a day spent training one of the earliest batches of clones, the Alphas. They’d been one of the few groups Jango had taken any kind of personal interest in. That day, his father had returned looking tired and- resigned. He’d explained that one of the Nulls had developed an instability related to his genetic modification, one that had resulted in his termination. At the time, Boba had not understood why his father would be saddened by the termination of a clone. They were, in his mind, just clones. There were a lot more where they came from, after all. 

But- that was what Naroko was getting at, wasn’t it? Even he’d thought like that. And that wasn’t right, was it? If you didn’t think of clones- or other groups, he supposed- as people, it… didn’t matter to you if they lived or died, did it? And if you didn’t care, you could do pretty bad things to them. And _that_ was wrong. 

Slowly, he nodded. “But then why was what Ayliah did wrong?” he asked.

Naroko smiled faintly. “Well, for one thing, we’re technically guests here, and it’s rude to try and punch your host. Even if they are terribly callous.”

Ayliah snorted in disgust. 

“And- well, we are jetiise, remember? We’re not supposed to use violence to solve problems, especially ones related to ideology.”

“He deserved it, though. If the rest of the Kaminoans think like him, then I really don’t like the idea of having to deal with them. Killing people just because they’ve got some kind of physical or mental flaw…” Ayliah gritted her teeth. “It’s disgusting.”

“It is,” Naroko agreed soberly. “Which would be why Shaak Ti put a stop to that practice, and why I insisted on taking this squad.”

He looked between them and made a face. He wasn’t certain he was _ever_ going to understand these people. For his part, he thought Ayliah’s reaction quite reasonable. 

_But jetiise are weird, and don’t always make sense,_ he reminded himself. His in particular were baffling. They tried to live in accordance with this Code of theirs, and yet they had a positive knack for wiggling through tiny loopholes and finding justifications when it conflicted with something they believed in. How they didn’t tie themselves in knots with their own contradictions… 

He supposed they must cause a lot of headaches for their alore. No wonder they’d sent Naroko off to pick her own squad to placate her. Otherwise, they might have a mutiny or something on their hands inside a month. 

Of course, if she hand-picked her own unit, that mutiny just might well still happen- within two weeks. 

He hugged her, then led the way down to the entrance to the training room just as the first of the squad was stepping through. The cadet drew up short, head turning from Naroko to Ayliah to Boba and back again in quick succession.

“Squad, attention!”

Boba frowned, puzzled by the sound of the cadet’s voice. This clone didn’t quite sound like- well, all of the others. The accent was the same, certainly, but the voice itself was higher in pitch. The other four members of the squad hastily drew up behind their leader, coming to sharp attention. He glanced up at his jetiise. They both looked as puzzled as he did, though there appeared to realization dawning on Naroko’s face.

“Ah- at ease?” she said, a little uncertain. Obedient as ever, the five clones relaxed, their attention still on her. “I am Jedi Knight Naroko Chiston. This is my Padawan Learner, Ayliah, and my foster, Boba Fett.”

Five helmeted faces turned to look down at Boba. He regarded them coolly.

“We’d heard Jango had gotten himself killed,” one of the cadets in the back row said. Oddly, he had the same higher voice the leader had. “And we were wondering what had happened to Boba. It’s good to see he’s gotten himself someone to look after him.”

Naroko smiled and rested her hand on Boba’s shoulder. “We’re very happy to have him,” she said. He felt a little wave of warmth and affection wash over him from her, and smiled a little at that. As baffling as his jetiise were, he at least knew they _wanted_ him. There was something to be said for that. “As we will be happy to have the five of you.”

Stunned silence met her words. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way Naroko would simply walk into a situation and boldly make such declarations. 

“…. Sir?” the leader asked, hesitantly. 

She smiled. “We were sent to pick out a unit to work directly with us,” she explained. “Your squad happens to have the sort of composition that will be useful to what we’re being assigned to do. I know you haven’t passed your final trials yet, but from what I saw of your performance, I believe you will pass with flying colors. And I want your unit to work with us.”

Boba heard a few quiet murmurs- the cadets whispering to each other on private channels over their helmet comms. Only the leader remained perfectly still, attention absolutely fixed on Naroko.

“Sir,” the leader said, “We- were slated to be reassigned to Maintenance. We’re… bad batchers.”

“Lun Xi implied such, yes,” she said. “We told him we wanted you anyway.”

“But- _why_?” the leader asked, perplexed. 

“Your unit has the skills we need.” She smiled. “And we think you deserve a chance.”

The cadets were still for a long moment. Then, slowly, the leader reached up and removed his helmet. Boba stared. The face peering wonderingly at them was clearly of a type with the other vode- he could see his father’s features quite clearly- but they were softened in this unexpected female face. 

“Ah,” Naroko said, “I understand now. _Distaff_ Squad.”

The leader nodded. Her eyes were a little lighter in color than most of the vode, more a dark amber than their original’s deep brown, and they were fixed firmly on Naroko. “All five of us, sir.”

Ayliah stiffened with outrage. “You’re- _girls_?” she demanded. “ _That’s_ why they say you’re flawed? That’s _it_?”

“Well… yes…” That was one of the cadets flanking the leader. She tugged off her own helmet, revealing a face that was the twin to hers. “The Kaminoans always said that the contract stipulated male clones, and we’re… not.”

Ayliah turned and glared at her Master, fists on her hips. “ _Now_ can I go pummel that damn cloner?”

“Alas, we are still guests here.” She actually sounded regretful. “But-” She turned back to the Distaffs. “You are going to prove all of them wrong. You’re going to serve with us, and show every one of these Kaminoans you’re every bit as good as your brothers.”

Slowly, the leader smiled, hope shining in her eyes. “Yes sir!” she said fiercely. Her sisters chimed in, less than a beat behind.

“Excellent.” Naroko beamed at them. “Now- do you have names yet?”

There were nods all around, and one by one the squad leader made the introductions. She was CT-1996, called Jaina. Mercy came next- she was their medic, and was particularly pleased to learn they were going to be working with a pair of healers. CT-1998 was Ace, their pilot. Then came the mechanic, Tinker, and finally Bullseye, the cadet who had been wielding the heavy repeater blaster with such enthusiasm. Her specialty was ‘shooting, demolitions, and in general making things go boom’, as she so eagerly described it.

Ayliah grinned. “With that resume, I’m surprised you didn’t get called Boomer,” she said. 

That got a laugh. “I considered it,” she said. “But there’s something like eight other Boomers in this graduating class alone. I think there’s a couple other Bullseyes, but not nearly so many.”

“Aha.” 

Boba surveyed the squad. They looked to be in good order, he guessed. He hadn’t been expecting Naroko to zero right in on a squad that hadn’t graduated yet, but they seemed like they’d be able to keep her out of trouble. They were even grinning to one another as Naroko dismissed them to their usual assignments for the evening, sending them off with a gentle admonition to get some rest and do their best on their final evaluation. The simple prospect of not only getting a field assignment, but having been specifically chosen by one of the jetiise they were trained to serve under, had put the squad in good spirits.   
Ayliah, on the other hand, was in less good spirits. 

“They were going to terminate them because they’re _female_!” she snarled to her Master once the squad was well out of sight. “Master, what kind of people have we signed on with? This is _insane_! This is so many kinds of messed up I can’t even _count_ them all!”

Naroko grimaced. “On one hand, I see where they’re coming from,” she said reluctantly. “They- well, Lun Xi at least, but ObiWan said the others he met seemed to have a similar mentality- seem to view themselves as something between animal breeders and weapons manufacturers. Their standards- and I suppose, their professional pride- insist on them producing the best possible… products… to their clients.” 

“Products,” Ayliah spat. “These are _people_ , Master!”

“I am aware.” She rubbed Ayliah’s shoulder gently. “It is disgusting, to see people treated this way. I don’t like it. I wanted to go throttle Lun Xi myself.”

“We should have.” She wrenched away from Naroko, clenching her fists. “Master, what are we _doing_ here? With these- these-” She paused, struggling to find words. Finally, she growled in frustration. “Anakin would call this slavery. _I_ would call this slavery. These clones had no say in what’s been done to them, no choice in what they’re going to do with their lives. And we’re _working with their slavers_. The _Jedi Order_.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong, Liah,” Naroko said. Boba looked between them, wondering if he ought to give Ayliah a hug or something. It was interesting, though. He could tell Naroko was upset, but the angrier Ayliah got, the quieter and- sadder Naroko became, at least on the outside. Was that to control her own anger, or to try and temper her Padawan’s? “This whole business- it stinks. Jedi aren’t soldiers. Jedi aren’t war leaders. We shouldn’t be leading in this war, but we don’t have a choice. We are mandated to serve the Senate and the Republic. If we walk away now, if we refuse, we betray that mandate, and by doing so will be made into traitors and deserters who abandoned our duty in the middle of a war. If we stand by and let someone else who isn’t so conflicted as we are take command, we open the door for others to come in and abuse positions of authority over the clones. If we take command ourselves, we risk corrupting our very purpose. _There is no good answer for us_.”

Ayliah stared at her, looking shaken. Boba had the impression that Naroko had just given voice to some of the fears and debates gripping the Order as a whole, summing up a whole great big mess in just a few words. From her expression, Ayliah had been involved in those debates herself. “Then what do we _do_?

She drew first Ayliah, then Boba into a tight hug. “We do the best we can with what we’ve been given to work with,” she said fiercely. He wondered if she wasn’t trying to convince herself as much as her Padawan. She sounded just a little too grimly determined. “We help where we can. We take in those who would be treated badly as best we can- like the Distaffs. We help them find places where they can do their best work, and help them figure out what that best work is. We take responsibility for treating them like _people_ , who should be accorded the same treatment as any other person. We act to ensure those who look to us for leadership do the same. We hold others of our Order accountable for how they treat the troops they are to lead. And we act to end this damn war, as quickly as we can manage.”

“Can’t argue with that last,” Ayliah said. She shuddered and leaned into the embrace, closing her eyes. “I hate this. I hate this while mess. And- I’m scared.”

“You should be,” Naroko replied. “Dear one, it’s going to be bad. We’re going to be faced with difficult choices and no good answers. All we can do is strive to do the best we can, without sacrificing who and what we’re supposed to be. It’s going to leave scars.” She drew back a little and touched Ayliah’s cheek. “There will be a lot of work for you, my little mind-healer. But you won’t be alone. I promise. We’ll figure things out together.”

Ayliah seemed to take that as the best answer she was going to get for the moment. She nodded, then scooped Boba up, heedless of his startled squeak.

But he got over the surprise quickly, and wrapped his arms around her neck to hug her tight. “Hey, Bob’ika,” she said in his ear. “You used to live here. Did you leave anything behind when you and your dad left that you want to go and get?”

“No,” he said quietly. “We packed everything we needed before we left.” 

She nodded and rubbed his back. “Thought I should ask. Mind showing us about?”

“Actually,” Naroko said, “I should go find Shaak Ti and speak with her. I’ll meet you for the evening meal.” 

Boba wondered if she was going to voice the same doubts and grievances Ayliah had brought up to this Shaak Ti. If so, he was a bit disappointed at not getting to watch. But he shrugged it off and led Ayliah on a brief tour of Tipoca City.

They were present to watch the Distaffs’ final evaluation the next morning. Ayliah was all too happy to indulge in some very smug looks at Lun Xi as the squad ran through their final exercise and the trainer gave his evaluations. Naroko remained composed throughout, aside from one quiet smirk. For his part, Lun Xi said nothing. Boba thought that was for the best. If he had said something, Ayliah might have actually punched him before either of them could stop her. 

Jaina was grinning fiercely as she came to attention in front of the two jetiise, her sisters falling in behind her. “Distaff Squad, reporting for duty!” she said. Her eyes were alight with eager pride, as were those of the others. 

Naroko beamed at them. “And very, very glad to have you, I am,” she replied. “You’ll do well with us. Now- pack your things, and enjoy a last night with your classmates. We leave tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Cody/Kote thing- I saw the idea for Cody's actual chosen name being Kote and him changing it because no one bothered to pronounce it right on Tumblr. Not entirely sure who originally posted it, but comandertanoreturns seems to be one of the early posters about it. There's another who specifically had a little blurb about the idea but my google-fu is failing. If I search for 'commander cody' and 'kote' I can find the result, but it the link associated with it is a 'tagged/' link and it won't take me to the actual post. So if anyone can help me figure out who the hell actually wrote that post so I can credit them, I'd be very appreciative. 
> 
> Also, bonus points to shadowmaat for also coming up with the same variation on the above notion I had already decided to utilize.
> 
> And as always, thanks to diaryofawriter, in this case for her efforts in making sure I had Ayliah right. Ayliah's hers, I'm just borrowing her for these shenanigans.


End file.
